


Spare Me.

by doctorkaitlyn



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Canon Divergence, Chaptered, Gratuitous amounts of walker killing, Homophobic Language, M/M, Racist Language, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 02, Sexual Content, Slash, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-19 03:26:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 67,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And one day, you find yourself wishing the person you loved had never existed, so you'd be spared your pain."  </p><p>Daryl knew that the apocalypse was going to change a lot of things.  It was going to reveal a lot about people and bring their true natures into the light.  But there were a few things he was going to try to keep hidden; for his sake, as long as Merle was around, there were a few things that had to stay hidden.</p><p>Amazing what happened at the end of the world.</p><p>[More tags will be added as new chapters are added]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I'm finally getting around to transferring this over from ff.net. This story has been in progress for quite some time and as of yet, there's no end in sight. Whether that's a good thing or not is up to you lovely readers.
> 
> For any of your readers coming from ff.net, you may notice that I haven't uploaded the prologue. The reason for that is I've changed my mind about how the story may end and that prologue didn't reflect that change. So it is now irrelevant. In addition, new tags will be added with each chapter and the rating is definitely going to go up as we progress. 
> 
> Enjoy, lovely readers. xo.

Daryl Dixon had heard countless times, mainly from women, that you always remembered the first time you met your one true love. Although he usually just nodded his head and kept his mouth shut, not wanting to ruin his chances, he personally thought that such a statement was nothing but bullshit. For one thing, the notion of love at first sight was positively sickening; there was absolutely no way that you could fall in love with someone without even knowing their goddamn name. Now _lust_ at first sight; that was something entirely different, something he knew all well in the time before.

But the first time Daryl met Glenn, he felt neither love nor lust for him. What he did feel was a rush of adrenaline, almost masking the tiny twinge of disgust that seemed to have taken up residence in his stomach since the world had completely fallen apart.

This was due to the fact that, until Glenn turned around and practically screamed, Daryl thought that he was a walker.

Him and Merle had been picking their way around Atlanta, trying to avoid wandering too far into the interior; even from their position, they could hear the moans of the dead echoing through the streets, intermingled with the occasional scream and, once, a gunshot. Merle had just laughed, saying some crude comment about someone kicking the bucket and continued on his merry way, beckoning Daryl to follow him. His brother was just having a hell of time with the apocalypse, enjoying being able to shoot anyone, so long as they were already dead. He wasn't thinking about the logistics of the situation, about how quickly they'd run out of bullets or if they'd have enough gas to even get their truck out of the city's limits.

Then again, Merle had never done much thinking. He was more of an immediate gratification guy, wanting whatever would feel good at the time. Daryl supposed this was how his brother had ended up addicted to drugs and with a STD. He, on the other hand, wasn't stupid. He hadn't gone to university or even college but he knew enough about life to realize that they needed to get as much food as possible and get the fuck away from Atlanta.

"Merle, stop pussyfootin' around!" he hollered as Merle stuck his head inside the window of an abandoned car, poking through the glove department. "Let's just find this goddamn store and get the hell out."

"Jesus little brother," Merle muttered, although he did move away from the car. "It's the end of the fucking world, I just want to have some fun."

"Well you need to have some goddamn respect," Daryl snapped back, adjusting his crossbow on his shoulder. Turning his eyes back to the road ahead, he finally located the grocery store that had been in one of the tourist guidebooks they'd had in the information office back home. Further up the road, at an intersection that appeared to have been the site of a multi-car accident, there were a dozen or so Walkers roaming around, although there were none in front of the store itself. Thankful that Merle had finally shut the hell up, Daryl picked his way around the debris and abandoned vehicles, slowly carving a path to the front door. The automatic doors were half open and just inside them, surrounded by a cloud of flies, there was what used to be a young woman, her arms only attached by thin tendrils of sinew. She showed no signs of movement but, just to be safe, Daryl pulled his buck knife out and quickly shoved it through the back of her skull, splattering his wrist with warm blood.

"No different than a deer, ain't it?" Daryl merely nodded because to be honest, he was really not in the fucking mood to argue with Merle. If he had to speak the truth, it was completely different than killing a deer. A deer was just an animal, something that was meant to be killed and used by humans. A human was just that; someone who, at one point, lived and worked and breathed and ate and did everything that he did. He could feel that twinge of disgust settle in his stomach again and he took a deep breath, re-sheathing the knife and stepping over the woman's body.

Although the shelves had already been picked over a bit, things weren't nearly as bad as Daryl had expected. There were more bodies littering the checkout area, including that of a teenage boy still wearing his uniform. From the gaping bullet hole in his forehead however, he'd been one of the lucky ones. The other people hadn't been that fortunate; some of them were so chewed up that you couldn't even tell what gender they were. Merle seemed quite intent on examining them, poking the bodies with his toes so that their twisted faces would be upright. Bringing his crossbow up, Daryl slowly started advancing down the darkened aisles, eyes squinting to read the labels, ears listening for even the slightest movement.

It was when he reached the back of the snacks aisle (which was relatively unscathed; apparently no one wanted potato chips at the end of the world) that he saw movement behind the doors that led to the loading bay. It was just a quick flash, something that he could have been imagining but he wasn't going to take any chances. Finger slowly stroking the trigger, he bumped the door open with his hip, ready to fire.

If the kid hadn't have screamed, he would have been dead. As it was, he'd made this noise that made Daryl think for a second that _good God a girl survived._ Instead, he was rather disappointed to see that the only other survivor they'd met so far was an Asian boy; even though he must have been in his early twenties, he was too freshfaced to be called a man. He had a ridiculous baseball cap jammed on top of his head and he was holding a baseball bat in both hands, arms rigid.

"What in the fuck are you doing back here?" Daryl asked, lowering his crossbow slightly. "You almost got yourself killed!"

"I thought you were a walker," the kid muttered, slowly loosening his grip on the baseball bat. "You wouldn't be the first one who's wandered in here."

"Yeah, I saw that already," Daryl answered, glancing back to where his brother was undoubtedly still desecrating the bodies. "How long you been here for?"

"A few days? Not sure really. Kind of lost track of time. You?"

"Just got here today. Getting food before moving on." Both of them knew where the conversation was going; the kid was going to ask if he could tag along and Daryl would have to say no. It wasn't that he was totally opposed to the idea of company but the fact was that he didn't want to have to deal with any stragglers, people who might slow him down in the long run.

Besides, Merle had a thing against Asians. Daryl wasn't exactly sure _why_ he had a thing against Asians but his entire life, he'd had to listen to his older brother spout off bullshit about how 'them yellow people' were good for nothing dogeaters. Personally, he didn't quite give a fuck what color a person was, so long as they were useful and could hold their own when it came down to it.

"Look kid, I'm sorry but-"

"Well, would you look at that?" Daryl couldn't help but wince slightly; he'd been hoping to end the conversation and get out before Merle even realized anything was amiss. However, his brother must have gotten bored because now he was standing beside Daryl, all six feet four of him towering over the kid. Merle definitely didn't appreciate the art of subtlety.

"Looks like we got ourselves a chink," Merle said, positively leering. For his part, the kid stayed stone faced, holding Merle's gaze.

"Actually, I'm Korean," he said. "But it's understandable that you'd make that mistake." Merle's grin actually faltered at that statement; he wasn't used to his victims actually talking back to him. For a second, Daryl was afraid that he was going to start swinging but he backed off, raising his hands.

"Well, we've got ourselves a Korean then. Suppose you want yourself a ride, do you?" Daryl tried to send the kid a warning look but he just nodded, lowering the baseball bat completely, although his grip was still tight around the handle.

"A ride would be nice."

"And what exactly are you going to bring to the plate?"

"I know Atlanta like the back of my hand and I have an CB radio." Merle snorted and turned around, walking back to the front of the store. Picking up a tattered old backpack from the floor, the kid swung it over his shoulder, grinning widely.

"Kid, what in the hell do you think you're doing?" Daryl muttered, glancing at his brother again.

"I've also got a carton of cigarettes. And I don't smoke." That was enough to make Merle stop in his tracks and look backwards, one eyebrow raised.

"What kind?"

"Pall Malls."

"Pussy cigarettes. But I guess that they'll have to do." With that, Merle kept walking, plucking random cans off of the shelves and tossing them into his own backpack. For a few moments, Daryl could only stare at his brother's retreating back. If he was ever going to wake up and find out he was just having a really long, fucked up whiskey induced dream, it would be this moment. But nothing. Merle was actually letting the kid come with them, in exchange for cigarettes.

He supposed that, somewhere out there, stranger things were happening. Shouldering his crossbow again, he slid his own backpack off his other shoulder, nodding his head at the shelves.

"You got some room in there for some more food?" The kid nodded and Daryl realized that he had absolutely no idea what his name even was. The question was forming upon his lips when it was answered for him.

"It's Glenn, by the way."

"Daryl. He's my brother, Merle. No point in telling him your name though, he'll just call you whatever he damn well feels like."

"I've heard worse before." Glenn smiled quickly before setting off for the furthest aisle, leaving Daryl to pack his bag with canned meats and bottles of water. When he met up with Glenn again at the front of the store, they both watched as Merle quickly dispatched a walker who had ventured too close to the front doors. Once he had pulled the knife out of the back of the Walker's head, he set off again, not bothering to look back to see if he was being followed. Daryl spared a glance at Glenn, who looked decidedly pale.

"Just keep your mouth shut and you'll be fine," he muttered, following after his brother. "And you better have those goddamn smokes on you."

"I'll get them out," Glenn said. "I think I'm going to need one too."

"I thought you didn't smoke."

"I don't. But today seems like a good day to start."

Daryl had a feeling that, between the three of them, those cigarettes weren't going to last very long.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two things are confirmed; Merle Dixon is racist and Glenn drives like a maniac.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are all lovely. x.

Daryl Dixon had experienced quite a few awkward car rides in his life. There'd been the time when his mother had picked him up from school after he'd been suspended for the first time. He'd kicked the shit out of a kid two grades older who had made some smart comment about his pa being a good for nothing drunk. The remark had been true but that hadn't meant that Daryl was going to let the kid get away with it. His ma had been completely silent, her knuckles white on the steering wheel, making a point of not looking at the black eye Daryl had sustained.

The instant they'd gotten through the front door, she'd given him a paddling that he never forgot.

Then there was the time that he'd had to drive Merle to court. Daryl had been sixteen at the time and their ma hadn't been feeling up to the task. Even though he hadn't wanted to, he'd done it anyways; lord knew that she'd had to take Merle to all his appearances since the old man's liver finally failed. The car had been completely silent. For once, Merle was sober, staring out the window at the fields they passed. Daryl had wished that the damn radio in his piece of shit truck had worked because anything was better than silence.

When they'd pulled up to the courthouse, Merle had given him this look, like he'd been wanting to say something. Daryl had tried to look nonchalant but really, he felt like he was sitting on broken glass waiting for Merle to say something, _anything._

Instead, he'd merely shook his head and stepped out, slamming the door so hard that the damn thing had nearly fallen off. That had been the last time he'd seen Merle for three years.

To be honest though, Daryl kind of missed when his brother didn't speak at all because once they'd clambered back into the truck, Glenn squeezed in between them, his brother wouldn't shut the fuck up.

"Where'd you even get these?" he asked, sticking his fifth (or maybe it was his eighth) cigarette into his mouth.

"Friend left them with me," Glenn said, wriggling slightly. Daryl did feel a little sorry for the kid; Merle was taking up more than his side of the truck, letting his long limbs sprawl wherever they pleased. He would have told him to be considerate but he didn't think his brother even knew what that word meant; even if he did, he'd only laugh at Daryl. The thought of Merle being considerate to someone who wasn't his race was practically laughable.

"And was he a chink too?"

Point proven.

"Actually, he was white, like you." Daryl wanted to bang his forehead off of the steering wheel. The kid was venturing into dangerous territory and he was either too stupid to realize it or thought that he could compete with the size of Merle's balls.

Come to think of it, if he was thinking that, he was still stupid.

"It's not natural," Merle said, blowing smoke out the open window. "Our kinds, they ain't meant to mix. That's why each continent's got different colors of people, because they were supposed to stay there. Look at you, for example. You yellow people weren't supposed to leave China-"

"Korea," Glenn muttered, eyes cast down to the CB radio that sat in his lap. Only static came out of it; they weren't even broadcasting the emergency report anymore. The airwaves were completely empty and for some reason, that made Daryl's stomach sink.

"It's all the same goddamn thing," Merle continued. "The point is, if we were meant to mingle, we would have all been born looking the same. We could have all been white or black or brown but we weren't." He took a final drag off of his cigarette and tossed it out the window. Daryl knew his brother, knew that he was taking a dramatic pause before he laid down the ending of his monologue. He just tried to concentrate on the road ahead when really, he wanted to smack Merle right across the mouth.

"You should have stayed in China," he said, turning so that he could stare at Glenn with this pleased-as-punch grin on his face. "Hell, you might have even had a chance over there."

"And maybe you should have stayed in the fucking swamp." Daryl slammed on the brakes almost instantly but it still wasn't quick enough to intercept Merle's first punch, which connected straight with Glenn's mouth. As his arm came back again however, Daryl stopped it, grabbing Merle's wrist and bending it towards the window. The position he was in was rather awkward, with Glenn's shoulder digging into his chest but he knew that if he didn't stop Merle, his brother would, quite literally, beat the man to death with only his limbs. Daryl had seen him do it to a walker already; when he had skidded into the parking lot of the sheriff's lockup, where Merle had been sobering up, Daryl had discovered that he had already escaped and was already outside, repeatedly slamming his boots into the head of someone who, in their previous life, had been one of the deputies. Killing someone who was actually alive was just one step above and he had absolute certainty that Merle wasn't afraid of taking that last step.

"Will you calm the fuck down?" he hissed, pressing harder against Merle's wrist. "It ain't nothing worse than what you said to him." Merle merely smirked and raised an eyebrow, obviously not intimidated in any way.

"Jesus Daryl, you're turning into one of those rice lovers," he said, shoving Daryl away with his other hand. "Just wanted to remind the kid where his place was, s'all."

"Yeah, and if those fucking freaks smell the blood, it's on your ass."

"Too late." Glenn's voice was muffled and his lips were rosy red from the blood that was dripping from the corner of his mouth. When Daryl turned to look back out the window, he could see that the kid was all too right; he didn't know if the walkers had really caught the scent of blood or if they'd been attracted by the noise but there was dozens of them approaching from all directions, lurching and crawling up the road on their festering limbs. Daryl quickly considered their options before putting the truck back in gear and slamming his foot down on the accelerator. Unfortunately, there was too much debris on the road to keep up the speed and after only a few moments, the truck was being swarmed, only barely staying ahead of the walkers.

"You got yourself a plan, little brother?" Merle asked, nonchalantly sending a shotgun slug through the forehead of the nearest walker. "'Cause we've got ourselves some company and I'm thinking that we're the main course."

"Shut the fuck up Merle," Daryl said, gritting his teeth. As much as he hated to admit it, his brother was right; there was no way that they'd be able to continue on the road without getting overwhelmed but there was no time to check the map and look for other ways out of Atlanta.

"Let me drive." Glenn's voice was still distorted and nasally but, despite the blood crusted onto his upper lip, he looked alert; scared as hell but alert and like he had a plan brewing behind his brown eyes.

"And why would we want to let your dirty hands touch our truck?" Merle hollered, slamming his gun into the temple of a female walker who'd gotten a bit too close to the window.

"I told you, I know this place like the back of my hand," Glenn said. Even though he was responding to Merle's question, he was looking only at Daryl and in such a way that it rather made the other man feel uncomfortable. He could only think to describe it as pleading, like he was saying _let me save us_. "I can get us out, I promise."

He didn't know why he did it; he could see the surprised and, if he was correct, outright disgusted look on Merle's face as he switched places with Glenn. He knew that later (fuck, if there even was a later), Merle was going to give him so much shit about being a disgrace to his race but at that particular moment, there was more important things on his list, like actually surviving. And if the kid was their best chance at surviving, then so fucking be it.

"You better not get us killed," he growled, pulling Merle's extra pistol out of his holster. "Now drive, for fucks sake!"

The kid definitely did as he was told; Daryl had no idea where he learned to drive but if it hadn't been the apocalypse, he would thought that the goddamn boy was crazy. After doing a one-eighty turn, he went back the way they'd come, effortlessly weaving around the debris with only one hand on the steering wheel. The only sign that he was scared was the fact that his teeth were sunk into his lip, making even more blood well up and drip onto his chin. In between dispatching walkers, Daryl couldn't help but keep glancing back at the sight. He wasn't sure why he was so fascinated by it, by the way the kid's blood was dripping onto his shirt and he was carelessly licking it off, more concerned with turning the wheel so sharply that the damn truck nearly flipped over.

Nonetheless, even if there were times where Daryl was about ready to kiss his ass goodbye, the kid did it, taking them through a labyrinth of alleys and little side streets that were practically invisible. By the time they'd reached the open road, flying down the relatively abandoned blacktop of the interstate (apparently no one had wanted to go _into_ the city) Daryl thought that it was safe to release his grip on the pistol.

"Nice job China-boy," Merle said, sticking yet another cigarette into his mouth and once again not bothering to offer Daryl one. "You keep that up and maybe I'll forget what color you are."

Daryl was pretty sure that Glenn would have grabbed the pistol and shot his brother if it hadn't been for the voice that had come over the CB.

"Hello? Is there anyone there?" Glenn immediately snatched the radio off the floor and, still driving with one hand, used his other to talk.

"Hello hello, we're alive, who's this?"

"Oh, thank God!" A nervous chuckle filled the radio for a second. "For awhile, I thought we were the only ones. We're up in the state park, the old quarry, just off the interstate. You know where I'm talking about?"

"Yeah, we're almost at the turn off," Glenn said, sighing with relief, grinning broadly. "How many are with you?"

"'Bout ten. When you get to the turn off, I'll give you better directions." Signing off, Glenn set the radio back on the floor at Daryl's feet, still grinning broadly.

"Well just great," Merle said, spitting out the window. "We're just gonna have ourselves a party." Daryl merely rolled his eyes and turned to Glenn. The kid looked so goddamn happy, like he didn't have a care in the world. It was almost admirable.

"Hey kid," he said, "thanks for saving the day but now, it's time for you to move over."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I received a comment earlier about the old summary of this story, regarding the word change in reference to Daryl's sexuality. This comment was rather passive-aggressive and sarcastic (hence why it's no longer with us; what can I say, I'm a human and things get to me) but in no way was I implying that it was the zombie apocalypse as an external influence that made Daryl have feelings for Glenn. He doesn't just magically turn gay. His sexuality itself doesn't change, it was already there; he just starts to really address it for the first time. 
> 
> Yes, change was probably the wrong word to use so I fixed the summary up. But yeah. That's... that's what I have to say on that. xo.

If the people before him were all that was left of civilization, Daryl figured that they were absolutely fucked.

The camp was located above a massive quarry, which at least provided a decent water supply and somewhere to get the grime off. The thick, surrounding forest was a natural fence against the Walkers and Daryl had no doubt that it was still full of game, just waiting to be taken down. For all intents and purposes, the camp itself was about as good as you could get without climbing one of the goddamn Rockies. But the survivors...

If God did exist, he had a sick sense of humor.

For one thing, there were _kids_. It wasn't that Daryl didn't like kids or anything; in fact, when he was growing up, he had loved spending time with his little cousins, content to play hide and seek with them for hours. But this world, it wasn't' a goddamn place for little ones. It wasn't a place to raise a daughter or son.

Besides, Daryl noted in a realization that made him sick and would have made Merle proud, the kids were just extra mouths to feed.

Then you had the complete opposite end of the spectrum with the old man who had introduced himself as Dale. He'd been the one who had hailed them on the CB and, for all intents and purposes, Daryl figured that he was the patriarch, the father figure of this clusterfuck. He brought both a RV and a hunting rifle to the fray but Daryl wouldn't believe he could use it until he saw it.

Christ. The only one of the bunch that looked like an actual, typical survivor was the deputy, Shane. He was definitely the most dangerous of the bunch, stalking around the perimeter of camp with his huge hands clutching an equally huge shotgun. Daryl couldn't help but think that the man might have been supplementing for something.

As for all the others... they didn't seem to bring anything to the plate. Sure, the women could wash clothes but if they got attacked, would they be willing to pick up a weapon and defend themselves? Or would they just shriek and get in the goddamn way?

This was just going to be great fun.

The kid, on the other hand, seamlessly integrated himself into the group, becoming fast friends with Dale as they bonded over a map in front of the antique RV. The little boy, whose name he hadn't caught yet, seemed interested as well, shyly sneaking over until he was peering over Glenn's shoulder.

They seemed like nice people, truly. But being nice didn't mean jackshit anymore.

The food situation was just as pathetic, consisting of a supply of canned goods that was depleting with each passing day. Apparently none of them knew how to hunt anything larger than frogs and those certainly weren't going to feed ten or so starving mouths. After the preliminary bullshit was taken care of, he immediately set off into the forest, crossbow slung over his shoulder, Merle trailing along behind him, thankfully silent.

That was one of, if not the main reason that Daryl enjoyed hunting. Sure, there was something to be said about the satisfaction he felt when he successfully took down a buck or boar that he'd been tracking for miles but it was really all about the silence. There were still birds singing and the wind blowing through the trees but really, Daryl didn't include any of that in his definition of noise. Noise was people talking constantly, radios blaring, honking horns. To be away from all of that... it felt right, like it was how the world was supposed to be. Out in the woods, it was almost possible to forget that civilization had collapsed.

For the first time since they'd bolted from their shitty hometown, Merle wasn't talking and Daryl wasn't going to lie; it was a definite relief. As much as he cared for his brother, Daryl had forgotten just how uncomfortable it was to be in close proximity with him for such a long period of time. It was like being locked in a room with a ticking bomb that could detonate at any time; any statement, any wrong move could set it off. Although he had become mostly accustomed to the random explosions over the year, he was still on his toes, ready to face the turbulence if something he said made Merle go berserk.

Taking his eyes off his crossbow for a brief second, Daryl glanced over at his brother. Merle looked deceptively peaceful, leaning against the trunk of a sturdy elm, fingers lightly holding his buck knife. A casual observer might have been fooled but Daryl wasn't. He could see Merle's eyes darting back and forth, constantly roaming the environment for a target. His slumping position was hiding a quickness that was borderline terrifying.

Only two seconds later, Merle proved that point. With one swift movement, he had pounced on a squirrel that had ventured a little too close to his position. When Merle stood up again, his face was littered with small scratches and there was blood splattering his hands but the squirrel was undoubtedly dead. Holding it up by the tail, Merle poked it once before slinging it over a low branch.

"Your turn little brother," he smirked before returning to his same position. Daryl returned the smirk and actually started trying to hunt. Within a minute, he had bagged a decent sized hare, sending a crossbow arrow between its eyes from twenty feet away. After retrieving the hare and yanking the arrow out of its head, he couldn't help but shoot a look at Merle, defying him to do better. With only a knife at his disposal (they'd both decided that using a gun was just a stupid idea), Merle took longer to bag his prey and in between kills, Daryl had plenty of time to go back to thinking.

Even though they were out in the middle of the woods, downing squirrels and rabbits for supper, Daryl figured that they would just move on the next day. Merle, quite frankly, didn't play well with others and Daryl really didn't want to have to baby-sit his brother or fix the messes that he would undoubtedly cause. Besides, although the members of the group seemed nice enough, there didn't seem to be many advantages of having larger numbers. After all, more people made more noise and in turn made a bigger target and if the supply of canned food ran out, he had a feeling that it was going to be nearly impossible to feed twelve people off of squirrels alone. Him and Merle could sustain themselves, they didn't need the help of anyone else to keep them alive. Their Pa had made sure of that, long before the planet went right to hell.

But what about the kid? Much as he hated to admit it, Glenn had basically saved their lives with his fancy driving; without that, the three of them would have been wandering the streets of Atlanta looking for food and not the canned kind either. He owed the guy and besides, if he was telling the truth, he wasn't bad company. He was smart, seemed to have a level head considering the situation they'd gotten themselves into and unlike most of the others, he had a definite skill. Daryl was fairly certain that the kid had no idea how to handle a gun but then again, why would he? He was pretty certain that most Asians were too busy learning math to learn how to shoot a gun.

Then again, he was pretty sure that if more people had been interested in learning how to survive then in attending college, chances were that the camp a mile or so behind them would have been a bit larger.

But, even as he took down another squirrel with a strategically fired arrow, Daryl couldn't help but question his own motives because no matter how hard he tried to suppress one image out of his mind, he failed. That image of the blood dripping down the kid's chin, falling in tiny drops and speckling his shirt, just kept coming up, reflected on the inside of his eyelids. It wasn't that he had a thing for blood (or guys that were probably barely legal) but there was just something undeniably erotic about the way the kid had casually licked his lips, not wincing from the taste, too caught up in driving to even know what he was doing.

Christ. Maybe he was just going crazy or somethin'.

When he finally headed back with Merle, the sun was just going down and they had a dozen squirrels plus the hare between them. When they emerged from the tree line, both sweaty and streaked with dirt, the camp was just settling down. Shane and one of the other guys, tall and skinny like a sapling, were bent over a loosely arranged pile of twigs, aimlessly trying to get them to catch with the feeble flame of someone's Zippo. Daryl figured that he could have stepped in to help, told them that they were doing it completely wrong but, to be honest, it was funnier to watch the city folk be utterly useless.

And besides, him and Merle had brought them food for at least two days and, since he was pretty sure none of them knew how to skin an animal either, they were gonna have to prepare the damn things as well. The least the rest of the camp could do was getting everything else ready.

***

He'd always loved the stars. Even as a little kid, he'd loved sitting out on the porch in the summer, drinking a nice, dripping glass of iced tea and staring up at the expanse of sky, dotted with a seemingly endless array of stars. When he was a little older, he'd learned the major constellations, proudly pointing them out to anyone who cared to listen.

Turns out that most girls weren't interested in listening to him talk about the sky so he'd gotten a bit rusty. Nonetheless, lying in the back of their pickup truck, sleeping bag barely concealing the hardness of the surface, he started recalling his old skills, tracing lines through the sky. It was soothing, in a way, just something he could do by himself and never tell anyone.

Of course, the kid chose that moment to step up to the edge of the truck, scaring the hell out of him. Without asking permission, he hauled himself up and over the edge, settling down as if it was an action he'd performed dozens of times. Daryl was just glad that they'd moved Merle's bike out of the bed before he'd settled down for the night; if Glenn had knocked the damn thing over somehow, chances were that he'd be waking up with a few broken bones, if he woke up at all.

"What in the hell are you doing?" he asked, sitting up. The kid shrugged and leaned against the back of the truck, stretching his long legs out.

"Couldn't sleep," he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "The real question is, why are you sleeping in the back of a truck?"

"Merle doesn't share well." That definitely wasn't a lie; even though their tent could easily have accommodated the two of them, it was just better to let Merle be by himself, to let him stretch out.'

'Sides, his brother snored loud and that was just bullshit that he didn't feel like putting up with. The kid was giving him a weird look that was rather reminiscent of pity and he felt oddly self-conscious.

"It ain't so bad," he defensively muttered, lying back down. "Slept worse places." It was a beautiful, clear night with a half full moon, the kind of night where you couldn't help but feel at peace. He'd missed them; before the shitstorm, he'd been too occupied with work and life to just take a few moments to stare up at the sky, to be reminded of how small he was in the grand scheme of things.

"I just wanted to say thanks," Glenn finally said and Daryl glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. Far as he knew, he hadn't done anything to deserve thanks; if anything, it was the exact opposite situation. Nonetheless, curiosity got the best of him and he returned his gaze upward, trying to look casually disinterested.

"For what?"

"For giving me a shot. I mean, you didn't have to pick me up and you certainly didn't have to let me drive your truck. So, thanks I guess." Daryl had absolutely no idea how he was even supposed to begin to respond. The kid... was thanking him... because Daryl had let him save their lives? It was such an utterly ridiculous concept, something that completely twisted his brain around and made it hard to think.

"You should be thanking Merle, not me," he responded after a moment of careful deliberation. Glenn chuckled and stood up, wiping his hands off on his jeans.

"Somehow, I don't think he'd appreciate it." With one graceful moment, he vaulted himself over the side of the truck, landing almost silently on the ground. Even if he was lankier than all hell, the kid still moved like a damn dancer or something.

"Daryl?"

"What?" he groaned. The kid was making his goddamn mind hurt.

"If you ever feel like sleeping in a tent, you can switch with me. I think I could deal with the pickup for an night." With that, Glenn finally walked off, leaving Daryl with a mild migraine. His mind was all twisted and he wanted to just lay back and not think until he finally passed out.

So he went back to staring at the stars, his eyes tracing out the imaginary patterns, reciting the names of the constellations under his breath. It may have been a waste of time but it was certainly better then counting goddamn sheep.

Besides, the stars were fairly reliable and at that moment in time, when the world was turned upside down and even his damn mind was playing tricks on him, he needed something that was the same as always.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You. Yes you. You're lovely. You're all lovely.

The days ticked by, more survivors trickled in and, to Daryl's unending surprise, Merle showed no signs of wanting to move on. Daryl would have thought that less than twenty four hours after screeching in, his brother would have been ready to move on, ready to dominate the country. But he seemed to have come to an unspoken agreement with the rest of the group; him and Daryl would provide them with fresh meat and the rest of the group would put up with Merle's racist tangents. To be honest, it was rather uncomfortable for Daryl to witness. His brother had always been a lone ranger, doing things himself and without a hint of subtlety, something that he was sure wasn't going to go over well in the long run.

Then again, he had a feeling that part of the reason Merle wanted to stick around was because of that blond woman, Andrea. He'd seen the way Merle had looked at her, lecherous eyes roaming her body, not caring that she was glaring daggers at him the whole damn time.

Speaking of staring, he'd noticed that Glenn had been doing more than his fair share of it. There were times where Daryl would be sitting around the fire, skinning a squirrel or woodchuck or something and he'd feel eyes boring into the back of his neck, a gaze settling deep in his spine and making him shiver. The first few times, he'd thought it was one of the little ones; he remembered all too well just how much kids liked to stare at things that were different or fascinating. But after three days of it, he had finally spun around, ready to tell the mothers to give their kids some damn manners, only to come face to face with Glenn, who turned a shocking shade of pink and muttered something that Daryl didn't hear.

He knew he should have said something, told the kid to keep your fuckin' slanted eyes in your goddamn head. But the fact was that he wasn't Merle; he was smart enough to know when to keep his mouth shut, to know when there weren't any advantages to speaking up. So he'd settled for a glare, which had seemed to do the trick. Indeed, for a few days, the kid hadn't said a goddamn word to him. He acted like Daryl didn't exist, pointedly ignoring him.

Christ, he was too old for this shit, for this teenaged, beating around the bush business. Much as he valued keeping his tongue in his mouth, he had to say something because, even though it really shouldn't have bothered him, the fact the kid was ignoring him for no good reason rather unnerved him. If he'd done something wrong then he really wouldn't have cared but he'd merely been minding his own goddamn business, something the kid apparently didn't know about.

Good God, it made his head hurt.

He waited for one night when Glenn took the first watch before approaching him, pulling himself on top of the RV where they'd set up their little guard station. The kid had visibly tensed, his fingers flying for that damned baseball bat. He'd probably worn grooves in the damn thing with the amount of time he spent carrying it around.

"Relax," he muttered, sitting down on the edge and letting his feet dangle down. "Just me." Even though he put the bat down, the kid was still tense, fingers gripping the edge of the fold up lawn chair. He'd been planning on doing things civil but this was just getting on his goddamn nerves. Christ, less than a week ago, the kid had been offering Daryl his tent and now he looked like he was expecting his head to get ripped off.

"What's your problem?" he blurted, watching how the kid reacted. Even with just the light from the moon, he could see Glenn's skin darken with a flush.

"What are you talking about?" he muttered, deliberately not looking in Daryl's direction. The kid was a godawful liar but Daryl supposed that he couldn't fault Glenn for that; after all, it wasn't every kid that'd grown up having to lie about why they'd been absent from school for a week or why they had another black eye.

"Oh c'mon, we both know you ain't fucking stupid. One day, you're starin' at me like I'm a fucking girl and now you've got your nose all upturned like a prissy fucking snob. Honestly, Glenn, what is your goddamn problem?" He expected the kid to lash out, to strike back with some dumb excuse or another. Instead, he started chuckling softly and, for the first time in days, he actually turned to look at Daryl, shaking his head.

"You know, you really aren't anything like Merle." Daryl felt like he had walked straight into a goddamn brick wall that had popped up out of nowhere. It was such a weird thing for the kid to come out with, something that completely knocked him off his guard. He'd spent his entire life being told that he was exactly like Merle, that he was going to grow up and be a good for nothin' son of a bitch. And here the kid was, a kid he'd met only a week before, telling him that he wasn't at all like his brother?

Bullshit.

"What in the hell are you going on about?" he asked, feeling his fingernails digging into the surface of the RV. Glenn merely shrugged before returning his gaze to the camp, leaning back in his chair like he was some old fella' sitting on the porch and watching life go by before him.

"I don't really know," he sighed, breaking into a sheepish grin for a second. "It's just... it's so weird that you two are brothers and yet you're so completely different. The others don't think so but... but I do. I think you're more than him." Now here was the Glenn who'd been missing for the last few days, back in full force. But he still hadn't answered Daryl's goddamn question; someone else might have been fooled by the kid's tangent but Daryl knew that he'd been trying to draw attention away from how he'd first reacted.

"That's great and all, but seriously, what the hell's up with the staring? Did I grow a third eye or somethin' that I don't know about?" After a few seconds, the kid started to laugh; none of that halfassed chuckling or giggling, actual laughter that came from his stomach and split through the air. Daryl didn't know why but to be honest, the sound was kind of nice. He knew that the end of the world wasn't exactly something that was supposed to knock you on your ass with hilarity but he hadn't heard anyone laugh in a long time. It brought back memories.

"Honestly Daryl, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me." The kid merely shook his head again, laughter beginning to trail off into the night. Daryl was surprised that he hadn't woken the old man up with it but he didn't exactly mind. It wasn't that he didn't like Dale but at the same time, he had a score to settle and he didn't want to be interrupted.

"Don't worry about it, okay? It's stupid." Glenn made a move to stand up and Daryl snapped. He was sick of this lying shit; he'd been lied to all his goddamn life and he wasn't going to take any more, especially from a goddamn kid who owed Daryl his life. He grabbed the chair so hard that it nearly tipped over, effectively pinning Glenn inside it. The kid looked absolutely terrified but Daryl figured that was probably a good thing; maybe he just needed to scare some sense into the dumb bastard's head.

"If it's bothering you so much, then obviously it ain't stupid," he hissed, so close that he could feel the kid's warm breath on his cheek. "So what is the goddamn problem?" Below them, Daryl heard the door of the RV squeak open and he cursed. Apparently someone had heard them and he only had a few seconds left to pry the information out of Glenn.

"Daryl..." The kids voice went low and when his eyes flickered open, he was giving Daryl that look he'd used on the highway, that one that had been the epitome of pleading. "Trust me, you don't want to know."

"Glenn?" Surprisingly enough, it wasn't the old man; it was Jim the mechanic, poking his head over the edge, one hand grasping the edge. Daryl had a bad feeling that the other hand, the one he couldn't see, was clutching a gun.

"Glenn, you okay?" The kid's breathing was harsh, way harsher than it should have been from the situation and Daryl leaned away, holding his hands up.

"It's all okay Jim," he said, still keeping his eyes locked with Glenn. "We're just havin' us a little a chat, weren't we Glenn?" The kid nodded quickly and that seemed to be enough to satisfy Jim. Even though he still had a suspicious look on his face, he slunk back down. Daryl knew that his chance was gone, however; the kid had gotten too goddamn scared, although he didn't know why. There was something going on, something that made him feel uncomfortable and, quite frankly, nervous.

"Sorry," he muttered, slinking away like a common coward. When he made it back to the pickup truck, he knew that he wasn't going to be able to sleep. His mind was racing like mad, layers and layers of thoughts piling up until he couldn't tell them apart from each other. But there was one image that he kept going back to; that image of the kids eyes, so wide and scared and full of unspoken begging. What was he begging for? What was so bad that Glenn couldn't say it, even in the ass backwards world they lived in?

More importantly, Daryl thought as he adjusted himself on the thin sleeping bag, why the fuck did he care?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this chapter contains quite a bit of homophobic language; however, after this chapter, it's pretty well non-existent in the story, promise.

Daryl barely slept that night. Even though his body was literally aching from exhaustion, his mind refused to stop moving, replaying the moment with the kid over and over like a broken record. Every time he shut his eyes, he'd see Glenn's face, see that look in his eyes, begging him to stop.

But stop _what_? As far as he reckoned, he hadn't changed his routine since the first day they'd skidded into camp; it was all hunt, skin, cook, tell Merle to keep his damn mouth shut a few times, sleep, rinse and repeat. It was the kid who had gone insane, his moods changing like he was a damn hormonal schoolgirl, swinging from giggly to whimpering in the blink of an eye. There was something very, very off about the whole thing and no matter how hard he tried to dismiss it as just mood swings (the kid barely looked old enough to be out of high school, after all), the thought came back with a vengeance, gnawing away at his sanity like a rat with a vendetta.

He did manage to fall asleep eventually but it certainly wasn't enough; when Merle woke him up for the daybreak watch, slamming his open palm into the truck hard enough to leave a dent, Daryl actually felt worse than he had before. His limbs were heavy, filled with lead as he yanked himself out of the truckbed, landing heavily on his feet. The fire had long burned out and the moon was only a sliver, leaving the only light to come from the horizon, swiftly lightning from navy blue to pale orange. For a brief moment, Daryl found himself lost in childhood memories, in the time before Pa had been too far gone, when he'd regularly dragged both him and his brother out of bed at the asscrack of dawn to go hunting.

"You tired, little bro?" Merle asked, bright eyed and bushy tailed. Daryl had a feeling that part of, if not most of his brother's wakefulness came from one of the various kind of drugs he kept stashed in the storage compartment of his bike. Daryl merely grunted as another yawn ripped from his mouth. He really wasn't in the mood to standing watch over a bunch of damn city folk who probably didn't known how to use a gun any better than they knew quantum physics.

Then again, the old man could have been a professor at some point in time. Christ, maybe he'd even been a math teacher or something like that. Daryl wouldn't have been surprised; it seemed like God had decided to kill most of the useful people and have a little fun with the others. It was only after a few seconds that he realized he was thinking about complete bullshit. Thinking about the kid all night had definitely toyed with his sanity.

"So, whatchu think of those pretty blond things?"

"Y'mean Andrea and Amy?" Merle only laughed, staring off in the direction of Atlanta. Daryl had always hated his brother's laugh; it sounded cruel and lecherous, no matter what the subject of amusement was.

"Don't think their names really matter, do they? Any port in a storm, right?" To be honest, sex hadn't really been on Daryl's mind, put on the backburner so that he could better focus on not getting killed. Even now that Merle had brought it up, Daryl just couldn't imagine it. Christ, Amy was still practically a kid, looking like an all-American girl you would have seen in college brochures and although he didn't find Andrea ugly, she just didn't really do anything for him.

"I ain't fucking someone who's still a kid," he muttered, spitting on the ground, "and Andrea's too high-strung. 'Sides, I'm sure there's other options somewhere."

"Like who, Lori?" Merle started to laugh again and Daryl felt the sudden urge to knock his brother unconscious. "Pretty sure if you so as look at her in that way, Shane would use your balls as walker bait."

"Whatever man. Guess I'm just a little pickier than you are."

"Always were." The sun was peeking over the horizon, the sky exploding into fiery trails of red, orange and yellow. With it came the birds, chirping in the trees just above their heads. It was kind of ironic in a way, he figured, that even though probably three quarters of the human population now had shit for brains, the animals were completely unaffected, living their lives like absolutely nothing had happen. Abruptly, one particular strain of birdsong went silent and Daryl watched as a small thing, no bigger than the palm of his hand, tumbled from a nearby tree branch, felled by a rock. When he glanced over at Merle, his brother was grinning, still staring off in the direction of Atlanta.

"Fucking hate birds," he said, spitting again.

Jesus, Daryl was too tired for this shit.

***

As the day progressed, things didn't get any easier. Every time that he got the hankering to snatch a nap, he was interrupted in some way or form. First, it was Shane as he got off watch, asking if he would mind going on another hunting trip that afternoon. After that, as he reached the truck, it was Lori, asking if he would be able to fix her damn clothesline for her. That particular request had put him in a rather pissed off mood and only exacerbated the headache he was starting to develop in his temple.

The third time, he made it as far as the truckbed before the old man sidled up beside, looking like a damn actor in one of those 'Freedom 55' commercials with his floral shirt and floppy hat. He cleared his throat, leaning against the edge of the truck, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"What in the hell do you people want now?" he muttered, letting his arm drop back over his face to block out the sun. "Christ, can't do a fucking thing for yourselves."

"Daryl, we need to talk." Daryl rolled his eyes behind his arm; of course the old man needed to talk to him. It wasn't like he would just pop by for the company, was it?

"So talk then." There was a long silence then, where Daryl could practically hear the thoughts tumbling in Dale's head. Finally, with another clear of his throat, he managed to get words out.

"Jim said that he... saw you and Glenn last night." This was enough to make Daryl sit up, one eyebrow raised, trying to keep his cool even though he figured his blood pressure had just skyrocketed. It was amazing how, even when the world went to hell, people still stuck to all those nasty personality traits, like being gossips.

"Yeah, what about it?" he finally decided on. He didn't see how it was any of the old man's business what he'd been talking to the kid about and it certainly wasn't his place to try to intervene in the situation. If the kid wanted to talk to him again, he had a mouth that was very capable of doing so.

"Well, I..." Dale swallowed hard, like he was having a difficult time spitting out the words. "I just want to tell you that it probably isn't a good idea to get involved with him."

Daryl wasn't sure that he had heard right. Surely, Dale had said something different that had gotten confused over the bustle of camp. He had not just used the words 'get involved' in reference to his talk with Glenn. Christ, maybe he was going senile or getting early onset Alzheimer's or some shit.

"What the Christ you talking about?" he asked, sitting up straight. "You better start making some damn sense or I'll have to knock some into you." Truthfully, he didn't plan on laying a hand on the old man unless it was absolutely necessary; he considered it rather below him to beat up a fucking senior citizen. Nonetheless, the threat definitely had its desired effect.

"Jim said you were kissing Glenn," he spat out, growing even paler. "And if that's what you're into, that's fine but just... think about it." With that, he skittered away, heading back for the RV. For his part, Daryl simply couldn't move. All of his tiredness seemed to have melted away and his mind was back on high alert, breezing through thoughts quicker than he could deal with. Shutting his eyes, he forced himself to count to ten, calming himself down long enough to gain some focus.

Jim had thought he'd been kissing _Glenn_? The kid? Jesus, he'd barely exchanged words with the man but it was obvious that the mechanic was just as delusional as the rest of them. They'd been having a discussion, not making out. He was pretty sure that should have been obvious.

Then again, he supposed that he was just being biased. He had been leaning rather close to the kid, hadn't he? He guessed that, from Jim's angle, things might have looked a little compromising. But still, the man was getting a little ahead of himself if the first thing he assumed was that they'd been kissing. For Christ sakes, the kid was-

Oh. Oh shit. The clarity of the situation fell down on him at once, slamming into him like he'd walked into a door. The kid's actions were transparent now, the reasoning behind them perfectly clear. Of course he was acting hormonal, playing the alternating mood card; after all, wasn't that what you were supposed to do when you... had a crush on someone? Even in his mind, those words made Daryl's stomach drop below his balls. This was just unnecessary. The kid, fucking Glenn, couldn't like him. It just wasn't right; God, _he_ wasn't right. He wasn't the kind of guy someone could depend on, who would tenderly attend to a partner's emotional needs.

Christ, what the fuck was he babbling on about? First things first, he wasn't a damn fag. Even if it had been awhile since he'd gotten some, he wasn't so desperate that he was going to accept it from a guy, and from the kid no less. He thought that he'd try his chances with Lori before that point. But even as the first layer of his mind constructed these thoughts, he could feel others lurking underneath, chinking away at the protective armour over his brain. He could still picture the kid nonchalantly licking the blood off his lips when they'd made their escape from Atlanta, could still remember the look in his eyes when he'd offered to switch sleeping places with Daryl.

This shit had to stop and stop now, before it got into territory that was too dangerous for everyone involved. He climbed out of the pickup truck, all thoughts of a nap forgotten as he headed back towards camp. Merle was nowhere to be found, probably off in the forest popping more drugs, but Daryl knew that he wasn't going to be gone long and the last thing he needed was for his older, very homophobic brother to walk in on a conversation that revolved around whether or not the kid was a fag. That simply wouldn't end well and quite frankly, he didn't feel like cleaning up any blood. He'd seen enough of that.

When he finally tracked the kid down, he was coming back from the quarry, his hair wet, still dripping underneath the ever-present hat. He was obviously doing some thinking of his own; his eyes were cast downward and he didn't notice Daryl until he was grabbing him by the shirt and dragging him into the tree line, where they were safely hidden from view.

"Daryl, what the hell?" he asked, eyes bugging wide. For some reason, that only aggravated Daryl more; why was the kid so damn scared of him? He wasn't like Merle, wasn't going to just use his fists to solve the problem. He'd somehow ended up with a bit more tact than the rest of his family.

"We need to have us a talk," he said, leaning up against a nearby tree and watching as the kid immediately started gnawing on his lip. "About what happened last night."

"Daryl, I told you, it's nothing," he groaned, nervously darting his gaze back at the road. "I swear to you, it doesn't matter."

"Didn't your momma tell you it ain't polite to lie to people?" Daryl took a step forward, keeping his gaze level and even. With each second that ticked by, the kid looked more and more like a scared rabbit and Daryl decided to just end his torment and get the question out into the open.

"Are you a fag?" Surprisingly, the kid didn't bolt; indeed, if anything he looked relieved, sighing heavily and rubbing the back of his neck. When he pulled his hand away, Daryl could see water droplets clinging to the skin, glistening in the sunlight.

"It isn't that simple," he finally answered, chewing on his lip in between words.

"'Course it is. Either you like guys or you don't." Daryl really didn't see how there could be any leeway in the definition. He supposed that the kid could swing both ways but he'd shown no signs of being interested in any of the women at camp; God, even the old man had been making eyes at Andrea so for the kid to not be doing so obviously meant something.

"What if it's just one guy?" The kid was still staring off at the road, hands shoved deep in his pocket, skin flushed, although Daryl wasn't sure if that was from the heat or the embarrassment at being found out. "What if it's just one guy who is everything I should hate?" His eyes abruptly shifted and locked with Daryl's, dark brown meeting his blue. It wasn't like he'd ever paid too much attention to the color of the kid's eyes but he was almost certain that Glenn's irises had substantially darkened.

"What if it's just you? Does that still make me a fag?" Daryl swallowed heavily, feeling like the axis of the planet had shifted slightly. There was something so wrong about the sound of that word coming from Glenn's mouth. He was too damn innocent, too fresh faced and unscarred to say it. A bead of sweat dripped from his temple and he wiped it away. It was too fucking hot.

"Yeah, it does." He didn't know how else he was supposed to respond but the kid didn't look surprised. He merely shrugged, still not breaking eye contact.

"Well, guess I am then." He shrugged again, finally averting his eyes. He looked... lighter, like a giant weight had suddenly fallen off of his shoulder's and onto Daryl's. Even though he was trying to stand upright, he could feel himself slumping toward the tree again, fingers reaching out for purchase. A small smile flitted about the kid's lips and he had the sudden urge to knock it off, to slam his fist into Glenn's face until he was spitting out his own teeth.

"Are you going to punch me?" Christ, how did the kid get into his mind? His fists curled at his sides, the nails digging into his skin. The kid took a few steps forward and it was only through exercising all of his self-control that Daryl didn't break his nose with one quick jab.

"Look, I'm sorry," he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck again. "If you wanna attack me, I understand. Just... watch the face." He lowered his gaze to the ground, standing patiently, gnawing on his lip again and for a few seconds, Daryl considered it. He really did. He thought about what it would be like to pin the kid to the ground and punch him until his ribs snapped, until his blood dyed the ground red. Maybe that was what it would take to get rid of those feelings.

But he knew that was a lie. If he did that, the kid would simply accept it and keep going about his life. He knew that because Glenn was a good person, better than he was for sure. He never would have resolved a problem with his fists, the common method of the Dixon family.

_You're more than him._ That was what he had said on the RV. Glenn didn't think he was like Merle; he was the first person he'd ever met who had said that, who hadn't made him feel like shit because of his kin. He couldn't just ruin that. So, he simply shook his head, feeling his throat tighten up.

"Just go," he muttered, shutting his eyes so that he wouldn't have to see the emotions lingering behind Glenn's. "Just get the fuck away from me." He could feel the kid lingering for a few moments and he could just imagine him standing there with his lips slightly parted, thinking of something else to say. Finally, just before Daryl considered pushing him to send him on his way, he left, sneakers crunching over the ground. He didn't know how long he stood there on his own, holding his head in his hands, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. His thoughts were the furthest thing from coherent, overlapping and twisting together until he felt like he was going to roar out loud.

He needed to sort things out, but there was no way that he was going to be able to do that back in camp, especially with Merle around. His brother would be able to see right through him; he'd always been able to and he knew that when Merle figured out who was causing him to go insane, he'd have no mercy. He wouldn't even think about holding back.

He needed to leave. As he trudged back to camp, he estimated that it was in the early afternoon, probably around two o'clock. That left more than enough daylight for him to justify going out on a hunting trip. Besides, Shane had asked him earlier in the day if he minded going out; it wouldn't arouse suspicion. As soon as he reached the pickup, he snatched up his crossbow, threw some food into his pack and took off again before anyone even noticed that he'd reappeared.

Truthfully, he didn't fucking care if he found any food. He'd been catching them squirrels for a week now; if they had to go a night without fresh meat, that was too fucking bad. He just needed to go somewhere where he could sit and think, where he could mull over his thoughts for as long as he had to without being interrupted by someone.

He needed to be alone. It certainly wasn't something he wasn't used to. He'd been alone most of his life, abandoned by his entire family, left in isolation from death, alcoholism and prison, depending on the family member. He thrived on being alone.

_Maybe you don't need to be alone anymore._

Fuck. Even when the kid wasn't around, he got in his head and to be honest, Daryl wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing anymore.


	6. Chapter 6

It was truly amazing how quickly time went by when you were thinking. One moment, as Daryl had dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, the sun had still been shining overhead, making sweat trickle down his back. The next, as he'd removed his hands from his face, the forest had been full of shadows, lengthening with every minute that went by. He had easily been standing (or rather, leaning) in the same spot for roughly four hours, completely dead to the world. Fuck, a walker could have chomped on him and he probably wouldn't have even noticed.

This was bad; beyond bad, this was fucking dangerous territory. Glenn had taken over his goddamn mind, invading his thoughts until the only thing he could think about was that goddamn kid and those brown eyes and that stupid hat he wore like a badge of honor. That kid, weaving through his head in ways that he shouldn't have, in ways Daryl was pretty were sure still illegal in some states. Christ, none of it was right in the slightest. He could practically feel Merle's presence beside him, that leering face only inches away, mouth spewing trash Daryl had heard time and time again, but never towards him.

_"So that's it, huh? My baby brother's a fag, eh? Dad was right about you, y'know; you're useless, just taking up space from the rest of us. We don't need you, I certainly don't need you. Don't want no fucking queer for a brother."_

Daryl had to sink his teeth into his bottom lip to stop himself from screaming out of sheer frustration. He knew that Merle would find out, would know his secret the instant he returned to camp. From then on, it would only be a matter of time before his brother was dragging him back into the woods and beating the living tar out of him. If he was feeling particularly merciless, maybe he'd just leave him there for the walkers to finish off.

Groaning, he slammed his head back against the trunk of the tree he was leaning against, the bark harshly scraping against his neck. If he'd known that the kid would have caused him this much trouble, he would have simply left him there in the back room of the grocery store, left him there to tremble in the dark until he was undoubtedly torn to shreds by some reanimated stock boy.

God, he should have known, should have recognized those thoughts that he'd abruptly shoved away when they'd been in such tight borders. It wasn't the first time he'd felt something for another guy, had felt that twinge of lust start to simmer below his belt. But that had been long ago, when Merle had been in the army. He'd just been a stupid kid, fooling around with one of his buddies and blaming it on the alcohol the day afterwards. It had just been one of those things you were supposed to do when you were a teenager.

It wasn't something that was supposed to come back, especially not in the here and now, especially not with a chink who looked just old enough to be legal.

It was simple really; there was only one way he could figure out to solve the problem. He'd do his hunting, get the others something to eat (and make them shut their whiny traps in the process) and then him and Merle would take off, set back out on their own. Maybe if they left quick enough, he'd even be able to sneak under Merle's radar. So long as the kid didn't look at him or speak to him, they'd be fine and he would stay alive longer.

Because really, he knew that if the kid even glanced at him once, he really was fucked. He would do it, make a move in front of everyone, make their goddamn jaws drop to the dirt. He would do it because it was the end of the world and he didn't fucking care about anyone else anymore.

Except Merle. Merle was the only person stopping him from dragging the kid inside the tree line and... well, he didn't quite know what he would do with him if it got that far. The point was, he wouldn't do that to his brother. Merle was his kin, the only family in the world he had left and even he was a racist drug addict, that blood connection still automatically made him more important than anyone else in camp, no matter what the thoughts running through his head might have said to the contrary.

Off to his right, a twig snapped and he immediately let all those thoughts go, shutting off his thinking for a few moments. A few seconds later, another stick snapped and he brought his crossbow off his shoulder, instantly reverting to hunter mode.

Glenn and Merle weren't important. He had a kill to make.

***

He didn't sleep at all that night. His mind was solely set on following the deer that was leading him on quite the merry chase through the forest. She was a doe, a pretty thing with lots of meat on her bones, enough to feed them all for a few days. He absolutely had to get her. He could hear it now, hear the _lack_ of bitching that would be going on when he came into camp with her slung over his shoulders. The silence would be absolutely glorious.

The sun rose again and he still continued hunting her, dozing off only when she dozed off. It wasn't the longest time he'd ever tracked prey before; his daddy had raised him to be a patient hunter, to avoid scaring off the animals. That was the only aspect of his daddy that had any patience at all in it. So he kept following her, waiting for the right time, nibbling on berries and mushrooms as he saw them. It wasn't much but it was enough to keep his stomach from rumbling and scaring her away. He couldn't help but snag a few squirrels as collateral, just in case things didn't go according to plan.

It was on the second day that he made a mistake. She had been dozing for a bit and he decided to take advantage of that, settling down into the long grass and letting his eyes drift shut for what he had thought would only be a few minutes. However, when they'd snapped back open, his entire body jolting in the throes of an already forgotten nightmare, the sun was high overhead, making sweat stream down his back, and the doe was nowhere to be found. He felt like such an idiot; he knew he should have just taken the chance while he had it, killed her while she was completely off guard or sleeping but that wasn't what he had been taught. That was the cheap way of hunting.

The screaming yanked him out of his pity party and he immediately started running, subtlety be damned. The sound had been fairly far away and had only happened once but they'd sounded like children and that was enough for him. He wasn't going to let any kids be killed if he could avoid it.

What he wasn't expecting, however, was to come back out into a clearing he recognized only too well from its proximity to camp. Nor was he expecting his doe to be lying half devoured in the middle of it, the body of a decapitated walker nearby.

"Fuck," he sighed under his breath, kneeling beside the carcass. The walker had torn out the poor thing's throat, coating the ground with her blood. The previous two days had been useless.

"Do you think we could just cut around that part?" He couldn't help but fuck with the other men who were standing around, all of them looking thoroughly annoyed by his remark. Apparently even sarcasm was beyond them. He could feel the kid's gaze burning into his back and he pointedly faced away from him, not letting their eyes meet. That would have been the end of him. As he stood up, the disembodied head started to move, its black teeth gnashing inside his mouth.

Fuck, they didn't know anything. He automatically fired a bolt into the thing's head, not even hearing the squelching as he yanked it back out, dripping with black bits of brain. The kid's gaze seemed to be getting even hotter with every second that went by, searing into his back with such strength that he was surprised his skin hadn't started to burn. He had to get out of there at that very instant, before he turned around and lost all will power.

"Merle, get your ugly ass out here!" he yelled, heading towards the direction of his brother's tent. Even as he moved casually, falling back into the expected motions, he could still feel that gaze but it seemed to have multiplied, as if the kid had sprouted an extra set of eyes. It was making his head spin all too unpleasantly on his shoulders.

"Merle!" he yelled again, feeling a drop of sweat tumble from his forehead.

"Daryl, hold up." There was something wrong, he could definitely feel it now. He reluctantly spun around, turning on his heel and nearly slamming into Shane's chest. The man looked nervous, front teeth gnawing on his lip, a direct contrast to the other man standing just behind him. Come to think of it, Daryl was pretty sure that this man was new and, judging from the way he seemed to have taken over the situation, had staked a claim as leader of their small group.

"The fuck do you want?" he growled, fingers tightening around the brace of squirrels. "And while we're at it, where the hell is my brother?" As soon as he said those words, Daryl saw fear spring into all of the men's eyes, easily visible.

"Where the _hell_ is my brother?" he asked again, letting the squirrels drop into the dust. He didn't give a fuck if they got all covered in grime. There was more important things to worry about, like the fact that his brother was missing and none of these pussies seemed willing to talk about it.

"He's handcuffed to a roof in Atlanta."

It was at that point that Daryl just stopped thinking and let his Dixon instincts take over. In one swift, familiar movement, he dove forward, aiming to bring the new man to the ground, wanting to slam his fist into those blue eyes over and over until the ground was red. Halfway through his tackle though, that fucker Shane grabbed him and brought him to the ground instead, thick arms wrapping around his neck and cutting off his circulation. The other man knelt down in front of him, slightly amused smirk flitting across his lips.

"Now, you listen to me Daryl," he said calmly, his gaze unwavering. "We haven't been properly introduced. I'm Rick and I am the one who handcuffed your brother to the roof yesterday, but it was out of sheer necessity. Your brother was a goddamn menace and he put us all in danger. I couldn't have that. It was for our safety and his. Do you understand?"

Daryl had to resist the urge to spit on Rick's face. Instead, he nodded grudgingly. Even though he felt like he was betraying his brother simply by thinking of it, he knew only too well how dangerous Merle could be. But still, leaving him handcuffed to a roof was treating him like a damn animal at the zoo. It wasn't right and he intended to fix that.

"I'm gonna go get him," he said, voice wheezing out as Shane's arm refused to loosen even an inch. "You let me go and I'm gonna go get his ugly ass."

"Of course you are. And I'm coming with you," Rick said, nodding at Shane to ease off. "It was my fault."

"I'm coming too." The voice that chimed in belonged to the black man, the one whose name he'd never bothered to learn. "I'm the one who lost the keys." Daryl just sighed and stood up, rubbing at his sore throat. He knew that they were expecting him to snap back but he didn't fucking care who came with him. He just wanted to get into the city, get his brother and get back out. If the others wanted to risk their asses, he wasn't going to stop them; he wasn't going to save them either though.

"Me too." For a few precious moments, he'd actually forgotten about the kid, who'd been lingering a few steps away. "I can get us there and back quickly." Even though he knew the kid was right, Daryl still thought that having him come along was a bad idea. If things came down to it, he knew that he would protect him from the walkers, even if it meant putting himself at risk. He would be a chivalrous bastard if he had to be and that image just didn't settle right in his head.

Or rather, the fact that it did fit right in his mind didn't settle with him. Regardless, he knew that there was no talking the kid out of it. He was coming and that was that. He didn't want to waste any time; it was already noon and he wanted to be back by dark, hopefully with his brother in tow. Shane and Rick split off for a moment, apparently to argue and Daryl found himself standing alone with Glenn as the others slunk back into the background, trying to look occupied.

"I'm sorry Daryl." His voice was quiet, just loud enough to be heard over the slight bustle that had started back up. Daryl forced himself to swallow heavily, to not betray just how much the words meant to him. From what he'd gathered, the kid hadn't had anything to do with his brother ending up on the roof but here he was anyways, apologizing like he'd snapped the cuffs shut himself. The sheer... goodness of it all was almost enough to make him sick, in a good way, if such a thing existed.

There he was again, talking shit that made no sense.

"Don't worry 'bout it," he finally managed to spit out, swallowing again to hide the rasp that insisted upon staying in his voice. "Wasn't your fault."

"I know, but I should have done something about it." He rubbed the back of his neck and lowered his gaze to the ground, making Daryl relax again. Whether he liked it or not, he had to admit that the kid looking at him made his muscles tense up.

"And I'm sorry about the other day," he downright whispered, still looking at the ground. "I shouldn't have said anything." Before Daryl was even aware of what he was doing, he took a step forward and snatched the kid's wrist in his hand, easily encircling his arm with his fingers. Glenn jolted like he'd been electrocuted but regained his composure remarkably quickly, looking at Daryl like he was doing nothing more interesting than talking about hunting.

"Don't worry 'bout that either," he muttered, taking a deep breath. He could hear footsteps approaching behind him and he dropped Glenn's arm like he'd been burned, instantly retreating back into his shell.

"We ready to go yet?" he asked Rick. The man nodded in affirmation and Daryl snatched his crossbow off the ground. The kid was still standing in the same spot, smiling at him with this grin that made his chest tighten just the slightest.

He wasn't finished with him yet. But his brother was handcuffed to a roof somewhere in the fucking wasteland of Atlanta, just waiting to be slaughtered. That was higher up on his list of priorities.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there, all my lovely readers! I have a feeling you're going to like this chapter. :D

Although Daryl was usually an advocate of silence, the type of silence that filled the box truck was practically overwhelming, filled with unspoken guilt. The others weren't making eye contact with him; hell, they were trying their very hardest not to look in his general direction. He felt like he should have said something, to smash through that godawful feeling but really, what was there to say? Even if they had been doing it (supposedly) to protect themselves from Merle, the harsh reality was that they had locked his goddamn brother to the roof of a building and left him there, left him like a cow to the slaughter and even though the fact that they were obviously feeling guilty made him feel a little better, that anger was still present.

They'd let the kid drive and even though the passenger seat was available, Daryl had taken a spot in the back. As much as he would have enjoyed the view had he been sitting in the front, the truth was that he had more important things to focus on. He couldn't allow himself to get distracted, to let his mind wander off. Instead, he stayed in the back, leaping out the back door before the truck had even completely stopped.

"Guns or Merle first?" Rick asked, falling into stride just behind Glenn.

"What the fuck kind of question is that?" Daryl asked. There was no way in hell that Officer Friendly really thought they were going after a bunch of guns before his goddamn brother. Wasn't his fault that they didn't know how to take care of themselves if they didn't have a piece of lead in their hands.

"Merle first. He's closer." As soon as Glenn said those words, Daryl felt a rather strong urge come upon him. Despite the fact that he knew the kid was almost certainly approaching things from a logical perspective, he nonetheless wanted to grab him and kiss him. As they continued jogging, he couldn't help but throw a glance sideways, catching Glenn's gaze.

He wasn't sure, but he thought that the kid mouthed _you're welcome._

***

He knew he shouldn't have been surprised. Even though T-Dog (what the fuck kind of name was that?) had said that he had chained the doors to the roof, Daryl knew that he shouldn't have assumed the best of the situation. The truth, however, was that he was only human; he couldn't just assume that Merle would be dead. For his own sanity, he had to think that he was going to run out onto the rooftop and find his very angry, very sunburnt, very alive brother, cursing and spitting up a storm like he always did.

But what lay before him was, in a way, almost worse than if they had found his brother torn apart by the walking dead. Instead, the only sign of his brother was his stiffened hand, lying on the ground in a pool of blood that had started to congeal. For a few seconds, all he could do was stare at it, lying small and shriveled upon the roof. It looked almost surreal, like it wasn't possible that such a small thing had come off of his tank of a brother. It just didn't seem real.

But it _was_ real and that was when he started to scream, dropping his crossbow to the ground and clutching his hair. He was aware that he was saying something, saying no over and over again, but that didn't matter. The fact was that the thought of his brother being so desperate to survive made him sick, a little bit. He didn't want to think of Merle being scared, didn't want to think of the sweat pouring off of his brother's forehead as he'd taken the handsaw to his flesh. Had he screamed as he'd done it, glancing over at the door the entire time? Jesus, had he cried?

He couldn't think of it anymore, couldn't stand the mental image of his brother cowering. He forced all those thoughts into the back of his head, hiding behind the walls he had so carefully constructed since the time he was a child. There were better things to focus his energy on, like tracking the trail of blood that led towards the other side of the rooftop. After all, his brother was a tough bastard, not a coward; for all Daryl truly knew, he was still alive, waiting in one of the other buildings. He was vaguely aware that the others were babbling apologies at him but he really didn't feel the need to listen; instead, without a word to the others, he set off after the blood trail, following it across the rooftops and down into the depths of a building that had been an apartment complex at some time. At any moment, he expected to turn a corner and come across Merle's body lying on the floor, defeated by blood loss.

But it never happened. Instead, he found only the bodies of freshly killed walkers, lying directly in his path. He couldn't help but feel slight admiration for his brother; the man had killed the things with one goddamn hand, after all, when half the people back at camp probably wouldn't have been able to kill them if they'd had neon orange bullseyes painted on their foreheads. However, that damn nagging voice in the back of his head simply wouldn't leave him be, bringing up another thought. What if Merle thought that he had betrayed him? What if, instead of being grateful when Daryl found him, he was ready to kill him, ready to snap his neck as easy as a newborn babe's? After all, Merle was unstable at the best of times, known to lash out if someone addressed him wrong. With an event like this, his anger (and mental state) were probably at apocalyptic levels.

Instead of finding his brother however, all Daryl found was a kitchen filled with the smell of burnt flesh and a broken window three stories off of the ground. If Merle was still living, chances were that he was long gone, vanished into the city or already eaten by the crowd of walkers that roamed the streets. There was no point in looking for him any further; they'd just be unnecessarily risking their own skins.

"The guns," he said simply, turning to address the others for the first time since the rooftop. "How are we going to do this?" To his surprise, Glenn immediately stepped up to the plate, coming up with a plan that was assisted by him making a makeshift diagram of the streets using various materials strewn around the apartment. The kid seemed to be in his element, naming off primary and secondary routes like he'd been thinking about this for days. He looked completely uninhibited and it was almost... mesmerizing, to watch.

"Hey kid," he asked softly when Glenn had finished explaining, "what'd you do before all this?" As soon as Daryl spoke, the kid turned red, his cheeks flushing red in a way that made Daryl a little too happy.

"Delivered pizzas," he shrugged, as if it was the most obvious statement in the world. Daryl filed that knowledge away for later; he wanted to be able to have a conversation with the kid about the past, about what their lives had been like before shit had gone down. Fuck, he just wanted to _talk_ to him, and that was an anomaly in itself. He decided to question it later, perhaps on the ride back. After all, it was only right that he would assist in the plan to retrieve the weapons after dragging them all on a wild goose chase.

Really, it was the least that he could do.

He had to admit, however, that he was surprised that Glenn had paired them up for their plan. He hadn't really been listening to the whole thing; he'd been too concentrated on how easily the kid had planned everything. The actual words hadn't been important. But he definitely wasn't going to complain about watching the kid's back as he ran out into the street, risking his neck to get the bag of guns. In a way, it made him feel... honoured, that Glenn trusted him to keep him safe.

He'd done his job a little too well. He'd been so caught up in watching Glenn, making sure that none of the 'geeks' were going to nip him, that he didn't hear anyone coming up behind him until it was too late. The baseball bat cracking into his back was enough to make him stumble forward, knocking him off balance. More importantly however, it distracted him and he spun around, raising his crossbow at the skinny spic that was brandishing the bat in his quivering hands.

"You best do some explainin,' or I'm gonna take you down like one of those things," he growled, keeping his hand steady despite the throbbing pain in his spine. The kid gulped once, sweat visibly dripping down his forehead. No words came from his mouth and Daryl's finger tightened on the trigger, ready to pull at a moment's notice.

"Daryl!" He let his guard down for two seconds, just long enough to turn and see the kid dashing back through the gate with the bag of guns. Those two seconds were long enough though; as soon as his back was turned, he was tackled to the ground, the baseball bat slamming into his kidneys. As he got back up, slamming the stock of his crossbow into the damn greasy kid's face, his stomach dropped as he saw Glenn being dragged away by two more spics. His futile struggles were useless and Daryl could see the fear flashing in the kid's face, his eyes wide and panicked.

" _Daryl!_ "

That was all it took for all of Daryl's walls to crumble to the ground, falling apart in one instant. He knew that he never wanted to hear the kid say his name that way again, to scream it out in terror. As he fired his crossbow, striking one of the men in the thigh, he was seeing red, his vision focused on only one thing: Glenn. Even as the men threw him in the back of a beat up low-rider, he realized he was chasing after them, running straight into the street, walkers be damned. He could still hear the kid calling his name, echoing in his brain, blocking out everything else.

When Rick sprinted from his and T-Dog's hiding spot, wrapping his arms around Daryl and dragging him back behind the gate, Daryl's first reaction was to start thrashing, desperate to get back out into the street, to chase down that damn car and smash someone's face into the windshield. It was only after the pain in his back got too intense that he stopped fussing and just went limp, wriggling out of Rick's arms to prop himself up against the wall of the alley, panting heavily. The other spic, the one who had attacked him, was still in the alley, backed up against the wall like he was wishing he could phase through it.

If Daryl had his way, the bastard would soon be wishing that he was dead.

"What happened?" Rick asked, quickly glancing sideways at the kid before returning his gaze to Daryl.

"They took him," he forced out, grimacing in pain. "A bunch of fucking spics came out of nowhere and took Glenn." As soon as his breath was fully back, he let his emotions get the best of him, lashing forward and once again catching the kid in the side of the head, instantly drawing blood. He had already drawn his arm back again when T-Dog stopped him, slamming him against the wall. No matter how hard he tried to move, he was effectively pinned; he'd never really noticed before but the man was built solid as a rock.

"Daryl, we're going to get him back," Rick said calmly. "Right T-Dog?"

"Yep," the man grunted, shifting position slightly. "But if you don't let up, that boy won't have a mouth to talk out of, and he's the one that's gonna tell us where they took Glenn. Isn't that right?" The last words were directed at the kid, who merely tried to snort and roll his eyes. His fear, however, was all too evident, showing through like the various pimples that dotted his cheeks.

He talked, of course. It hadn't been that hard; all Daryl had had to do was sneak in another few punches and some rather colourfully worded threats (which he thanked Merle for) and the kid, who'd whimpered that his name was Miguel, agreed to lead them to where the rest of his gang was keeping Glenn. Even after they got the information they needed, Daryl could barely rein in his anger; he was a Dixon, after all. When they were mad at someone, they let them know and he was still plenty mad at Miguel. However, he knew that Rick would pounce on him the instant he stepped out of line and he knew that it was time to stop fucking around.

The (fakeass) gangsters had holed themselves up in what looked like an old bombed out factory not far from the downtown core and it was easy enough to get to without attracting the attention of the Walkers. As soon as they entered the complex, Daryl's finger was on his trigger, ready to send a bolt through the brain of anyone who dared to twitch in the wrong direction. When they brought Glenn out of the garage, a black bag over his head, he almost threw even that to the wind and started shooting, the guns the others were brandishing be damned.

One look from Rick was enough to calm him down. This wasn't a situation that could be solved by going in on his own; for the first time in years, he actually had to rely on others. If he was being truthful, it was a feeling he didn't exactly like. Nonetheless, despite Rick's attempts to defuse the situation, and despite T-Dog being up on the roof as insurance, he could tell that things were swiftly going downhill. The gangsters were visibly nervous and twitchy, their fingers shifting on their triggers. It wouldn't take much of anything to set them off.

The elderly women popping in mid-standoff, however, shocked them all. At the same time, even though that hostility still remained, he couldn't help but feel a little bit of admiration for the men who had been trying their hardest to protect the most vulnerable. They were just trying to survive, a mentality he could definitely relate to. And truth be told, he didn't care that Rick gave up some of the guns they had risked their lives to rescue. It wasn't like he was going to use one, anyways; guns were too damn loud and made too much of a mess.

But more importantly, it meant that Glenn was back with them, shaken but safe. As they headed back to where'd they had parked the box truck, he stayed close to the kid, eyes peeled for any visible threats. He had already failed Glenn once and he still couldn't get the sound of his scream out of his head, that desperate cry for assistance. The kid trusted him and by God, he was going to make it his goal to keep that trust for as long as he lived. So long as he was still breathing, he was going to protect Glenn with everything he had. He didn't know why it had taken him so long to figure it out but once he knew it, the thought seemed completely normal, like it was the most obvious thing. As they continued to jog, he quickly glanced at Glenn, meeting his eyes for a brief moment.

He could see, in that one look, that Glenn knew exactly what he was thinking and the smile that came afterwards showed that he wanted it, wanted _Daryl_. It made his stomach flutter rather oddly and he tried hard to wipe the grin off his face.

All it took to do that was to arrive at their parking spot and see that the box truck had disappeared. Although he knew that there was a chance that some other survivors had taken it, he wasn't going to fool himself. It had been Merle. His brother, the tough sonofabitch, was still alive and he was undoubtedly heading back to camp, vicious as a beaten dog. They had no idea what was going to hit them.

The four of them shared no words. After such an absolutely exhausting, unbelievable day, there weren't any words left to say. They simply nodded and kept going, progressing from a jog to a run as the sun dipped lower in the sky. By the time they reached the road that turned off to the quarry, night had fallen and Daryl's entire body was aching, from his kidneys to his spine to his lungs. Nonetheless, he forced himself to go harder, focusing on the placement of his feet, one in front of the other over and over again. He knew that there was no way they would get back to camp before Merle but he could hope that he could get there before his brother went completely batshit and started shooting first, asking questions later.

Making his way back up that final stretch of hill was definitely the hardest thing Daryl had ever done. Not just because of the physical exertion, but more because he was afraid of what he would find at the top. More for the matter, what exactly would he do if Merle was at the top, ready to attack or having already shed blood? Would he side with his brother or would he stand up to the only person who had ever really taken care of him, stand up to his flesh and blood?

Truthfully, he was a little thankful when he finally mounted the hill and saw that the box truck was nowhere in sight. That thankfulness was practically non-existent when the scene that was unfolding before him registered in his mind.

Fuck, could these people not do anything for themselves? He instantly threw himself into the fray, shooting as fast as he could, pulling his buck knife from his belt and slamming it through rotted eye sockets. He was vaguely aware of Glenn by his side, having picked up his trusty baseball bat and swinging it as hard as he could, nailing walkers before they could maul Daryl's back. Blood and pieces of brain flew through the air, soaking them, yet they still worked, swinging and slitting until every stinking Walker was lying on the ground, destroyed. Even then, the screaming didn't stop; the children were wailing as loud as they could and he could hear Andrea's voice in there, bawling about her sister.

Despite the chaos lying around him, he couldn't wait any longer. As soon as no one was looking, he grabbed the kid's arm and dragged him behind the RV, easily blending into the shadows. Glenn put up no resistance; indeed, he rather sagged against Daryl, his hands landing on his shoulders, back against the side of the vehicle.

"Don't you _ever_ do that again," Daryl muttered, leaning his forehead against Glenn's, vaguely aware that they were both covered in flecks of blood.

"What, get kidnapped by fake gangsters? Not high on my list of priorities Daryl." Despite the words, Daryl could tell that the kid wasn't kidding; they were both too sore and too damn tired to tell any more jokes. After the day they'd had however, he knew that it was his job to protect Glenn, to keep him safe from anything. That was all there was to it and he was damned if he was going to do anymore pondering on the issue. He was sick of pondering.

So instead, he just leaned forward and kissed Glenn, their noses bumping together awkwardly before their mouths found their proper places, sliding against each other. One of his hands curled into the kid's hair, holding him close, letting him know that _I'm not letting go of you_. Glenn returned the gesture, one of his hands tightening around Daryl's bicep, nails digging into the skin slightly, saying _don't you dare._

He wasn't stupid. He knew that the next morning was going to pose some questions, that they would have to sit down and actually talk about it at some point and he would undoubtedly say something stupid. But he was bone tired and after the day from hell, he figured he'd earned some reprieve from his mind.

So he just shut down and kissed Glenn as hard as he could.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank all you lovely people who have commented, given me kudos or bookmarked this. Thank you so, so much. xo.

Daryl woke up just as the sun was coming over the horizon, his neck stiff and cracking in protest as he sat up too fast. The night before was still just a jumbled blur in his mind, a cacophony of screaming and blood flying everywhere and Glenn and...

Right. Glenn. That part was a little clearer than the rest, but just as unbelievable. He'd heard somewhere that adrenaline made the heart grow fonder and the previous night had completely proven that theory. All the little details were still lingering in his mind, from the feel of Glenn's neck against his hand to the way he hadn't even flinched when Daryl had knocked that baseball cap off of his head so that he could run his fingers through his hair. Even just replaying the scene in his head made his skin grow a little warmer than it already was.

But now came the hard part. Last night hadn't been the night for talking, it had been the night for action, for just doing it. Even after they'd both pulled away, chests heaving, they'd acknowledged that there was no point in talking about it; they were both tired and dirty as hell. The situation could wait.

Despite the rising sun, the rest of the camp hadn't stirred. Any other day, Daryl would have considered them lazy fucks but he supposed that considering what had gone down less than twelve hours before, a little sleeping in wasn't going to bother anyone. Straightening up further and leaning his head against the back window of the pickup, he could see that Dale was on guard on top of the RV, head heavy on his neck. When he listened closely, he could hear someone sobbing quietly and as he stood up in the truck bed, he could see Andrea on the ground, her arms wrapped around her sister Amy.

Shit. He'd forgotten about Amy. He'd forgotten that she'd been bit and for that, he felt like hell. He'd never really talked to her; he'd noticed she was pretty, an all American kind of girl but he just hadn't felt the need to make her acquaintance. But seeing Andrea bent over her body, her back shaking with the strength of her tears, made him feel like he'd been punched in the gut. It should have been a private moment for them, something that happened inside.

Jesus. Even death wasn't a private thing anymore.

There was no way he could go back to sleep, even though his entire body hurt something wicked. For a few moments, he considered sneaking into the kid's tent (lord knew he'd thought about doing that last night) and waking him up but he figured it was better if he left him be. They all needed as much sleep as they could get, after all; it was going to be an extremely long day. The camp was still dotted with the bodies of the undead and he recognized a few of the former members of their camp, scattered amongst the other bodies. He figured he'd get started cleaning the damn place up; there was no point sitting around on his ass, after all.

After snatching a pair of work gloves from the glove department of the pickup, he set to work, dragging the first of the walker corpses up the ridge to where they'd decided they would burn them. It was exhausting work, without a doubt and the swiftly rising sun didn't make matters any better. By the time he had dragged three bodies up the ridge, sweat was streaming down his back, making his shirt stick to his skin. The camp was starting to stir but it was almost like they were the zombies now; everyone was silent, falling right into their jobs. Rick and Shane joined him immediately, hauling pickaxes up so that they could truly make sure that the dead stayed dead.

Even though his muscles were practically screaming in agony, Daryl forced himself to work as fast as he could, hauling and swinging like he only had a few minutes left to live. The faster the camp was cleaned up, the better; maybe then, the women would stop their sniffling and they could get the fuck out of Dodge.

He didn't even notice that Glenn was awake and about until he spun around to go back down the hill and nearly smacked right into him. The kid looked like he'd gotten no sleep at all; his hair was sticking out from underneath his hat in comical angles and his eyes had dark circles underneath them that certainly hadn't been there the night before. He was holding a battered tin cup of water in his hands and he awkwardly thrust it forward, running a hand over the nape of his neck.

"I figured you were thirsty," he muttered, gnawing on his lip in a way that was strangely endearing. Truthfully, it wasn't until Glenn offered him the drink that Daryl realized just how painfully dry his throat was and he eagerly snatched it, drinking it fast enough to feel relief but not so quickly that he'd end up puking it back up. He poured the last bit over his head, drenching his sweat-covered face. He hadn't noticed how high the sun had gotten; he'd been working for hours and they were still only half done.

"Thanks," he replied, passing the cup back to Glenn. The silence that followed wasn't exactly awkward; rather, it was full of unspoken questions from the both of them, questions that couldn't be ignored much longer.

"Daryl-"

"Later," he interrupted quietly, sending a quick glance around before letting his fingers graze the back of Glenn's hand in a gesture he hoped would convey his sincerity. "Not now." The kid was smart and didn't push it any further; he merely nodded and headed back down the hill to drag up a body as well. Daryl sighed and ran a hand over his face, feeling absolutely filthy. He'd gotten used to being dirty over the last few weeks but this was just disgusting, an entire layer of sweat encrusted onto his face. He needed to make a trip to the quarry and soon.

But there were still more bodies; bodies of walkers and camp members alike. He tried not to pay too much attention to faces; he just swung the pickax into them as soon as possible, obliterating their identity in only a few seconds. It was easier that way, to just do it quick and not linger.

It seemed like forever before they could finally set the bodies on fire, filling the area with choking smoke that was enough to make you puke. Daryl took this opportunity to get down to the quarry while the others were distracted with dealing with digging the graves of those who'd been members of camp. Personally, he'd thought that they should have gone into the fire anyways; it was too damn risky to just leave them in the ground and besides, he'd been working since the crack of dawn, long before anyone else had been up. It was about goddamn time he had a break.

He wasn't surprised when he heard Glenn's quiet footsteps approaching. He hadn't announced where he was going but Glenn always seemed to have a good grip of his surroundings, always knew where everyone was. It was definitely a useful skill, something Daryl admired, although that definitely wasn't the only thing he admired about the kid.

"What a day," Glenn sighed, stripping off his shoes and sitting down at the edge of the lake, dipping his toes in the water.

"What a goddamn _week_ ," Daryl muttered, bending low and sticking his head in the water for a moment. He'd only bothered to take off his shirt and shoes before he stepped in; his jeans could probably use the wash anyways. "Can't get a fucking break anymore."

"I couldn't get a break before the world ended," Glenn said, leaning back so that he was propped up on his elbows. "I mean, first my parents kicked me out, then I failed out of college and then the world spontaneously decided to re-enact a George Romero movie."

"How the hell you get yourself kicked out by your folks?" Daryl asked, raising one eyebrow. Far as he figured, the kid didn't seem like the kind to dabble in drugs or drink or anything like that. He was too vanilla, too damn quiet for any of that.

"I told them that I didn't want to go to medical school and that I'd rather just go to college." He shrugged, staring up at the sky. "They didn't take too well to that." Daryl couldn't even imagine such a situation; hell, his old man barely let him finish high school. College hadn't even been an option. To be fair, he hadn't really possessed a desire to go, but just to have the option would have been nice.

"Kind of sound like ungrateful bastards if you ask me," he said, ducking under the water one last time before heading back to shore. He yanked his shirt back on before sitting down beside Glenn, drawing his crossbow close just in case. He couldn't hear any sounds from the camp above; the only sign that they weren't the last two people living was the wisp of smoke rising above the trees from their pile of bodies. Much as he wanted to push it a little further ahead into the future, he realized that if him and the kid were going to figure things out without everyone else being around them, this was probably the only opportunity they'd get.

"Glenn-"

"Daryl, you think too much," 

Well, that was definitely unexpected. He had a feeling that he looked completely bewildered so he tried to put his poker face back on, clearing his throat.

"How you figure?"

"You're wondering what... well, what we are, aren't you?" He nodded, curious to see just what kind of idea the kid had cooking up there in that brain of his.

"Well, I thought about it last night... and a little bit more today," he continued, "and... why does this have to be anything? It's not like I can update my relationship status on Facebook anymore or anything and it's not like we have to actually tell anyone so why do we even really have to think about it?"

Daryl didn't know how Glenn did it. He had no idea how he managed to sum up everything he had been pondering into one sentence. Maybe he was right; maybe he was over thinking the whole goddamn thing. It wasn't like he had to worry about Merle finding out, probably and besides Merle, who else was there that he really gave a fuck about? If the others didn't like it, that was too goddamn bad; after all, it was pretty clear after the night before that they had more important things to worry about than who was with who.

"How the hell do you do that?" he asked, chuckling slightly and shaking his head.

"Do what?" Despite the fact that he had initiated the question, Daryl didn't feel like answering with words; instead he just leaned over and kissed Glenn, nearly knocking him over in the process. It was just a brief thing but Daryl was pretty sure he'd gotten his point across; when he pulled away, the kid's face was flushed a rather interesting shade of red and Daryl couldn't help but wonder just how red it was capable of getting.

But those were thoughts saved for a better time. Much as he didn't want to, they had to get back to camp; there was still plenty of work to be done, not to mention that they had to figure out what the fuck they were going to do next. Daryl was pretty sure that was going to be Shane and Officer Friendly's territory but nonetheless, he wanted to be there in case someone needed some goddamn sense talked into them.

Not that they'd listen, but what the hell else was he going to do?

They didn't speak as they walked back up to the camp but Daryl didn't mind; he was too busy thinking, again. Despite the fact that Glenn had summed up the situation rather succulently, he was still... well, he was afraid. He'd never been good with this relationship shit, no matter who he'd been with. He always managed to fuck it up somehow, by saying the wrong damn thing at the wrong time or not saying anything at all. He'd been told by some of the girls back home, in no uncertain terms, that he was a cold, callous bastard who didn't have any idea how people's emotions worked.

He glanced sideways at Glenn briefly, who seemed quite content to just be silent and smile at him in response. The kid was different from anyone else he'd ever been with (and that wasn't counting the whole gender thing); he didn't demand attention. He didn't constantly talk (usually), hoping to have someone pay attention to him. If there was one thing Daryl knew he wasn't good at, it was putting up with useless, trivial conversation.

But beyond that... even though Glenn was smiling, he knew that it was only a matter of time before he said or did something that wiped that smile away. He was guaranteed to fuck up; precedent demanded it.

He just hoped that Glenn was prepared for what he was going to have to deal with.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be careful, I should mention that this chapter does contain reference to suicidal thoughts. Other than that, I hope you enjoy. x.

Daryl was fairly certain that, if he hadn't lost his faith in God nearly a decade before, this day would have been the final straw.

On top of all the other bullshit that was going on, Jim was bit. He had collapsed in the early evening and when his shirt was pulled off, the bite was exposed to the entire world. It looked like something from a shark, ragged around the edges and oozing purple colored blood. Daryl had been close enough to see the look in the man's eyes as what little hope he had remaining drained out. He knew he was going to die and none of them were stupid enough to say anything to the contrary.

And then, there was the Andrea problem. Although he hadn't noticed what had happened that morning, too busy dragging bodies away, she had shot Amy when she had come back to life and now, she was practically catatonic, sitting against the RV, her shirt still covered in her sister's blood. She was still holding her gun in her hands, toying with it dangerously. The only person who had been brave (or rather, stupid enough) to approach her was Lori and she had nearly gotten the top of her skull blasted off.

Daryl wasn't going to be surprised if she offed herself over night.

Until that happened, all they could do was wait for the night to pass, before they were going to leave. It had been decided over their low fire that they were going to take their chances at the Center for Disease Control; or, rather, Rick Grimes had decided it for them. Any other time, Daryl might have spoken out against him but really, he just wasn't in the mood. The entire camp was worn down; fighting with the others would just end up being a massive waste of his time.

Really though, what else did he have to suggest? Far as he saw, the CDC was their only possible option for survival and that chance was slim to none. The reality was that the place was probably overrun, just like the rest of the fucking city, and they were probably riding to their own goddamn deaths.

Maybe things would have been better if he'd just left Glenn alone that day in the supermarket, if he'd just stuck with Merle. His brother would definitely still be alive and chances were that they'd be better off, just the two of them, like it'd always been. These people were mostly useless, even when they weren't torn apart with grief. What was the point of letting them drag him down?

He had to get away from the campfire, from the heavy silence that was hanging over everybody. No one seemed to take note of his departure; they were all staring into the fire, obviously turned inward, wrapped up in their own thoughts. He wanted to say that it was pathetic but really, he supposed they were just doing what normal people did.

He'd never really acted normal, especially when it came to the emotional shit.

By the time he hauled himself up into the bed of his truck, he felt like he could breathe a little easier. The light from the fire didn't extend far enough and so he was in near darkness, only the stars above him as illumination. It was much better than being practically suffocated by the atmosphere near the fire but without any other distractions, he couldn't help but keep thinking about his brother. He suspected that, despite his sheer craziness, his brother was dead; despite his strength, he had lost a hand and a lot of blood. He was pretty certain that not even Merle could survive all that.

Really, when he thought about it, if Merle was dead, it was his fault. If he hadn't been so messed up about the kid, if he'd been around when they'd decided to go into Atlanta, he could have taken his brother's place. He wouldn't have been stupid enough to get himself handcuffed to the roof and everyone would have been alive and accounted for. Christ, if Merle had still been around, they might not have had to make the second trip back to Atlanta and they would have been more prepared for the walker attack on camp. He wasn't going to lie and say that he would miss Ed Peletier but Amy and Jim...

Jesus Christ, what a fucking mess this was. By getting himself so riled up over one person, over one fucking guy, he'd caused a chain reaction of just sheer bullshit.

Of course, the kid would decide to show up just at that moment, poking his head over the edge of the truck, leaning on his forearms. It was obvious that he wanted to climb in but he was waiting for Daryl's permission. For a minute, Daryl wasn't sure if he should give it; after all, this was the guy who had set off his chain reaction. But really, what the hell else could happen? He nodded once and Glenn clambered up into the truckbed, his limbs splaying around him like a newborn deer. Daryl really had no idea how someone so gangly could move so quietly; it just didn't make sense to him.

For a few moments, they were both silent, sitting beside each other, staring up at the night sky. Daryl could tell that the kid was just itching to say something though; he was gnawing on the corner of his mouth, kneading the skin between his teeth.

"Spit it out," he finally sighed, letting his eyes drift shut. He honestly wasn't sure if he really wanted to be around Glenn at the moment; his thoughts were making it rather difficult to keep his goddamn mouth shut. He knew instinctively that none of the shitty things that had happened were the kid's fault but he wanted, _needed_ to blame it on someone else and since God wasn't exactly an option...

"Daryl, could I kiss you again?"

He hadn't had a clue what the kid had been dying to say but he certainly hadn't been expecting that. His eyes flew back open and he glanced sideways, raising one eyebrow. Now that the words had come out, Glenn had gone back to chewing on the already split skin around his mouth, holding Daryl's gaze. It was an oddly appealing look, if he was being honest. Despite the shit he'd seen and done, it made Glenn look... innocent and as much as he wanted to tell him to go away, he would be damned if he was going to turn down that offer.

"Yeah, I guess you could," he said quietly, unable to help the smirk that spread across his face. He had a strong feeling that he was going to regret this when he wouldn't be able to sleep from thinking so much but it was too late to take it back; Glenn had already surged forward and kissed him, one of his hands landing on Daryl's outstretched leg. After getting over the initial shock, Daryl returned the gesture, his fingers splaying on the back of Glenn's neck. The angle wasn't the greatest and there was one brief, agonizing moment where their teeth clanged together but nonetheless, Daryl was pretty sure that it ranked pretty high up on his list of memorable kisses. Any nervousness Glenn might have had beforehand had disappeared; indeed, he quickly took control of the situation, his hand tightening on Daryl's knee to the point where Daryl was pretty sure he was going to have the kid's fingerprints embedded in his skin.

When he finally pulled away to take a breath, Glenn was hovering above him, grinning like the cat who finally ate the canary. Nice as it looked, Daryl didn't want him getting too smug and so he quickly flipped their positions, making Glenn's back hit the truckbed with a loud thump. It sounded like it hurt (and Daryl knew from experience that it most likely _felt_ pretty painful) but he was too busy kissing Glenn again to care, holding himself up on his elbows. The kid's long fingers were running down his back, nails dragging and God be damned if he hadn't missed that feeling. The next time they ran their course, his nails pressed even harder and Daryl knew that there was no stopping the low growl in the back of his throat.

Despite the fact that he was hard enough to probably cut through diamonds or something, Daryl wasn't going to lie and say that the whole situation wasn't a little bit weird. Compared to being with a girl, everything was a lot harder; there were flat planes instead of soft curves, bites instead of nips, clutches instead of caresses. It seemed a whole lot more primal, more animalistic and violent. He didn't have to hold himself back the way he had with the girls back home.

But things were going a little too fast. He didn't exactly mind when Glenn's fingers ran up under the back of his shirt, scratching at his bare skin but when he bucked his hips up against him, Daryl felt like he'd been hit with lightning. He immediately backed away, back colliding with the tailgate.

"Daryl, are you alright?" All of that energy Glenn had possessed only moments before had seemingly vanished the instant Daryl had sprang away; he was back to gnawing on his lip harshly. "Did I do something wrong?"

To be honest, Daryl wasn't entirely sure what had happened. He'd been fine right till Glenn had pressed his hips upward. He supposed that it hadn't seemed entirely real until then; the full extent of what he was doing hadn't hit him yet. But with that... there was no hiding what was going on and it was way too much to deal with on top of all the other shit that was happening in his mind.

"No, just... get out." Glenn didn't move; he just kept looking at Daryl, lip between his teeth and God knew that Daryl wanted to open up to him, to be able to tell him just what was going through his head but he didn't know _how_. He was a Dixon. He'd always been told that emotions were worthless, that real men didn't talk about their feelings. He'd never been taught how to open up to people.

He'd been taught to lash out.

"Get the hell out of here!" That did it. Glenn vaulted himself over the side of the truck and had melted back into the darkness in only a few seconds. Daryl let his head fall back against the tailgate, his fist slamming into the metal beside him. He didn't even feel the pain shooting through his nerves; he'd experienced it far too many times for it to have any effectiveness.

He felt like shit for what he'd done, for how he'd unleashed his frustrations on Glenn, who definitely didn't deserve it. But Christ, what the fuck else was he supposed to do? He'd never felt bad about cursing someone out before; that feeling in itself was confusing as fuck. But really, what did Glenn expect? He'd met Merle and even though it was just briefly, that should have been enough time to realize that Daryl didn't exactly have the greatest role model. But he just kept coming, kept pursuing it; was he really just that oblivious or had he honestly thought that Daryl was different from his brother?

"Fuck," Daryl groaned, rubbing at his eyes. He felt like going hunting for a few days but that was a no-go; they were leaving as soon as dawn hit and he didn't really feel like having to play catch-up to them. That basically left him with the option of sleep which, as he climbed out of the truck and slid into his brother's tent, wasn't going to be easy coming.

Less than six hours to fuck things up. He was pretty sure that was a record even for him.


	10. Chapter 10

Daryl couldn't sleep. He had been tossing and turning in Merle's jumble of sleeping bags for what had seemed like hours, nose filled with his brother's lingering scent, composed of stale sweat and cigarettes. His body was utterly exhausted but (as he'd predicted), his mind simply wouldn't shut the fuck up. He was thinking about so much at the same time that he really wasn't sure what he was actually thinking about. Everything was just a big fucking jumble in his head and dear _God_ did he want a fucking cigarette. He'd never been a heavy smoker, usually just having a few at parties or with Merle but he felt a nicotine craving hit him with full force and he was immediately wide awake, throwing the blankets off of him so that he could rummage through Merle's backpack.

There were three smokes left in the pack and, despite the urge he had to smoke all three in a row, he only took one, leaving the other two for the future. He fell right back into the routine, filling his lungs with smoke and exhaling in one, long breath.

Just like riding a bicycle.

He was certain that it was nearly dawn; somewhere in between his tossing and turning, he figured that he must have caught a few winks of sleep, even if it was the dreamless variety that made you feel worse than before. But there was no point in him staying in the tent any longer; he was just stewing in his thoughts and they really weren't doing him any good. If he took the final watch of the night, at least he'd have a little bit of a distraction.

Hell, even if nothing happened and he was stuck with his thoughts again, at least he'd be stuck with them outside rather than somewhere that smelled like a biker joint.

It was as he stepped outside, crossbow slung over his shoulder, that he heard it. On first listen, he thought it was a walker and he immediately snapped to attention, his muscles stiffening as he stood stock-still, looking for a flicker of movement. After the noise came again, however, Daryl pinned it as coming from the RV and felt his stomach sink as his mind made the connection. He wasn't hearing a walker moving about the camp; he was hearing the dying moans of a man who was about tobecome a walker.

It was almost enough to make you sick.

Apparently, he hadn't been tossing and turning nearly as long as he'd thought; the sky hadn't even begun to lighten along the edges of the horizon, meaning that it was still, effectively, the middle of the night. Nonetheless, he didn't have anything better to do; he was already awake and out in the refreshing air and he was sure that whoever was already on watch would appreciate the chance to get away from Jim's desperate groans.

To his surprise, it was Glenn who was on top of the RV, wrapped up in a threadbare blanket, Dale's old hunting rifle resting across his lap. For a few long seconds, Daryl considered trying to slide silently back down the ladder and make his way back to his tent but he decided to man up; he was going to face this situation head on, just like he did everything else. Besides, Glenn had already seen him poke his head over the roof and, despite the shit Daryl had said to him earlier, he was smiling slightly.

"Couldn't sleep either?" Daryl nodded and settled himself down beside Glenn's chair, his knee bumping against the kid's foot.

"Don't think I've slept since this whole thing began," he muttered, bringing his cigarette back up to his lips. He was surprised at how casual Glenn seemed, like the events of earlier hadn't even happened. Was he honestly that forgiving? If so, he was like the goddamn modern-day Messiah.

"I can take over watch for you if you want," he said after a few moments of silence, blowing smoke out along with his words. "Better than sitting in that fucking tent."

"Do you mind if I stay?" Daryl tilted his head up to see Glenn looking down at him, practically buried between his hat and the blanket he had pulled up to his neck.

"'Course not. Up to you I guess." One of those spine-chilling moans came from below them and Daryl felt himself involuntarily shiver. Sounded like something right out of one of the fucking horror films he'd watched as a kid.

"What do you think is going to happen to him?" Glenn asked quietly. For a few seconds, Daryl felt the urge to make a smart-ass remark comment but he swallowed it down. It was obvious that Glenn wasn't stupid; he knew that Jim was going to turn. He was wondering what the group was going to do to him.

"Dunno," Daryl sighed, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it over the edge of the RV. "I imagine there'll be a big shitstorm about shooting him, puttin' him out of his misery but no one will step up and actually do it."

"Would you do it?"

"Absolutely." There was no questioning it; Daryl knew that if it came down to him, he would dispatch Jim just like every other walker he'd taken care of. Glenn didn't answer and when Daryl twisted his neck so he could look upwards, he could see that the kid was staring off into the distance, deep in thought. Daryl didn't like what was in Glenn's eyes; they looked positively haunted, like he was seeing ghosts in the forest. He needed to distract him somehow, but the only thing he could think to talk about was what had happened earlier in the truck.

Well, it had to be said sometime.

"Listen, kid, I'm sorry 'bout earlier," he said, fingers clenching into fists at his sides. "Just... it's a little weird, y'know?"

"And you don't think it's weird for _me_?" As soon as he snapped, the kid looked like he regretted it; he grew sheepish looking, sinking even further down into the blanket. Daryl was actually flabbergasted; he knew that he'd only known the kid for a little while but to hear him actually get angry was odd, to say the least. It totally broke his image of Glenn being the modern day Messiah, which he had to admit was probably a good thing.

"I'm sorry Daryl," he muttered, words nearly indecipherable, "but you're not the only one who's new to this thing. I don't have a fucking clue what I'm doing but I don't run away from it! Just..." Glenn dropped out of the chair, practically tumbling into Daryl's lap. Although Daryl could feel his blood seething (who the _fuck_ did Glenn think he was?), he let Glenn get close, knees resting against his thighs, warm palms on his neck, gently turning Daryl's head towards him. As pissed off as he wanted to be, Daryl quickly felt his anger ebbing away from the sheer look on Glenn's face. Everything about it was genuine; his emotions were written there as clearly as if they were written on paper.

Quite frankly, he _cared._

"Just... please, talk to me Daryl," he said quietly, letting his palms drop back into his own lap. "I know that might be hard or something but can you please try to? It'll make this a lot easier."

Much as he wanted to agree, to say that he would give it a shot (even though it went against absolutely everything he'd ever learned), Daryl's body decided that yawning was far more important at the moment. For a few seconds, he was afraid that Glenn would think that he was bored, that he was just blowing him off but instead, Glenn just chuckled and shucked the blanket off of himself, draping it over Daryl's shoulders.

"You're right, it's way too late to be talking about this stuff," he said, reaching for the rifle again and laying it across his lap. "But maybe I could ride with you to the CDC?" All Daryl could do was nod; it seemed that his entire body had suddenly been drained of energy and it was all he could do to hold the blanket on his shoulders. Walking down the ladder didn't seem like a particularly safe idea, as he really didn't relish the idea of having to run away from a bunch of walkers with a broken ankle. So instead, he stretched out on the roof of the RV, adjusting himself so that he wouldn't roll off.

He was asleep within minutes, but he was still conscious enough to feel Glenn wriggle over and pull his head up into his lap. He just wasn't conscious enough to resist it.

***

"Daryl."

His eyes snapped open and he sat up straight, quickly glancing around, momentarily confused as to why he was smelling vanilla (or something) rather than beer and sweat. It took a few seconds for his mind to completely throw off the curtain of sleep and only then did he realize that he was still lying on top of the RV, still wrapped up in Glenn's threadbare blanket. The kid, for his part, hadn't moved an inch, although he looked much more tired than he had before Daryl had shut his eyes.

"Sorry to wake you up," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "but we gotta go." Although the sun was just beginning to peek up (finally), the camp was already full of hustle and bustle as the rest of the group took down their tents and piled them into the various vehicles. The RV kept shaking beneath him as people constantly walked in and out of it and Daryl decided against standing up to stretch.

Despite the fact that he couldn't have slept more than two or three hours, he actually felt... rested. For the first time in weeks, he had slept deeply, even hitting that dream phase. He couldn't remember exactly what his dreams had been about (only that they'd mostly been nonsensical) but the fact was that they'd happened and he was almost positive that Glenn has been the main cause of that.

"Need any help taking your tent down?" he asked, gesturing over at Glenn's sagging shelter.

"Nah. Pretty sure the stupid thing is about to fall over anyways," he said. "Can I throw it in the back of your truck though?"

Right. The kid had asked last night if he could ride with him. Although Daryl supposed there was no going back now, he still couldn't help but feel slightly apprehensive about the situation. He'd promised the kid that he'd attempt to talk to him but what the hell did he really have to say to him? He wasn't exactly the most exciting guy in the world; he didn't have any exotic tales of travelling or any impressive shit he'd done. Wasn't that the kind of stuff people wanted to hear about?

Thankfully, he didn't have to cross that road immediately. Almost as soon as they hit the road, their tents and Merle's motorcycle secured in the back of the pickup, Glenn had fallen asleep, head leaning against the window, hat pulled over his eyes. Much as Daryl didn't like being left to his own thoughts again, he couldn't help but like the weird half snore, half gasping noises Glenn was making as he slept. It was comforting, not being alone for once.

Two hours into their drive to the CDC, they had to pull over. For all intents and purposes, Jim was on his deathbed; he was sickly pale and sweat streamed off of his forehead in rivulets. His breath was rattling in his chest, mingled in with those awful groans that had only gotten worse. He couldn't even walk the short distance between the RV and the large tree Rick propped him up against; his legs gave out halfway there and he had to be dragged.

Daryl thought that he was going to be sick. It was one thing, seeing walkers roaming the streets; it was an entire other thing to see someone slowly being claimed by the fever. It was a cruel, vicious way to die, to practically be tortured to death by your own body. Glancing around at the others, he couldn't help but scoff at the two or three who were visibly praying quietly.

God wasn't going to do anything to help them. They were the only ones who could do anything about the situation. Jim coughed out another sentence, blood spewing from his cracked lips and Daryl had to avert his eyes to the ground. He wasn't going to watch the man die any longer.

God wasn't going to save them from the painful death that they were witnessing. The only saviours they had were themselves.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains what could be considered to be very, very, very slightly cracky. Or not. That's up to you. You'll see!
> 
> Also, I'm so sorry for not putting this up sooner; but I'm finally done first semester and now, I can focus on stories. xo.

Daryl had absolutely no idea what to say. The kid had been silent since they had started on the road again, staring out the window like the passing trees were the most interesting things in the world. Every once in awhile, he would quickly glance in Daryl's direction, smile half-heartedly and then go back to the window. Daryl didn't like it. It was, quite frankly, unnerving; this was _Glenn_ , the one who always had something to say, the one who was usually attempting to prompt _him_ into talking. He wasn't meant to be silent, wasn't meant to have that look in his eyes like he'd had on top of the RV. Christ, he wasn't supposed to look haunted.

Then again, Daryl supposed that none of them were supposed to look like that.

Jim's death had obviously hit Glenn hard but Daryl had a feeling the kid wouldn't want to talk about it. Really, what was there to say? Jim wasn't going to be the last person they'd lose. It was life now. All there was to do was to keep going, to stay one step ahead of the bastards before they nipped your heels. Thinking about the situation would do nothing but pull you down into the abyss and Daryl did not want to see that happen to Glenn, for reasons that weren't entirely unselfish.

"Why a baseball bat?" The question sprang to his mind fully formed and he blurted it out, words sounding far too loud in the enclosed cab of his truck. They succeeded in drawing Glenn's attention, however; he turned his head so that he was glancing in Daryl's direction, a half formed smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"Honestly? First thing I grabbed," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I kept it under the bed in case anyone tried to break into my apartment. Same question."

"Same answer," Daryl replied. "Crossbow was the easiest and lightest thing I had around me. 'Sides, it's quieter than a gun." There was silence for a few moments but it wasn't the same tense silence from earlier, filled with ulterior motives. Daryl could practically see the cogs turning in Glenn's brain as he thought of something to say.

"I'd never fired a gun, before all this started." The statement was obviously meant as a confession but it didn't surprise Daryl one bit.

"'Course you hadn't. You're a city boy. Bet you couldn't drive this truck either."

"Is that a challenge?" Glenn finally detached himself from the side of the truck and scooted closer to the center of the seat, his knee briefly bumping against Daryl's. "I'll have you know that I can drive a stick shift perfectly fine."

"I'll believe that when I see it." Although he couldn't help but try to suppress his grin, Daryl knew that it was a useless endeavour. Even though him and Glenn weren't actually talking about anything monumental, it seemed fine, seemed natural. He didn't have to force his banter; it was just coming out, a situation he'd never experienced with anyone, even with Merle.

"Do you have any CD's in here?" It took Daryl a few seconds to register the change in topic but he quickly shook his head.

"Nah. Wasn't ever a music guy. What the radio played was fine."

"Really? I took you for a Johnny Cash guy," Glenn smirked, moving over a little more so that his knee stayed against Daryl's. "Isn't that what all hicks listen to?"

If it had been anyone else making the comment, Daryl probably would have told them to go fuck themselves. But Glenn was sniggering, nearly bent in half from the strength of his own (lame) joke, so Daryl settled on knocking that baseball cap of his across the cab, chuckling himself as Glenn spluttered in protest.

"Well what did _you_ listen to?" he retaliated, chuckling harder as Glenn nearly fell into the gap between the seat and the floor. "That Asian pop shit?" When Glenn came back up, hat jammed firmly on his head, he was already blushing a rather interesting shade of red, muttering something under his breath. Daryl couldn't hear him so he merely raised an eyebrow, waiting to see what was so bad that it made the kid look like a goddamn tomato.

"ABBA," he muttered again, just loud enough for Daryl to hear. It took all the will power Daryl had not to bust out into laughter. He only knew a few of the group's songs (who didn't?) but the mental image of Glenn of all people singing along to them was enough to make him nearly bite through his own lip.

The mental image also gave him an idea.

"Who's that?" he asked, trying quite desperately to look casual and nonchalant. Glenn actually looked relieved for a few seconds, the blush fading gradually from his face.

"No one important. Just some band."

"Sing me something." Daryl was shocked that he'd actually spat the words out but Glenn looked like he had ran head first into a brick wall; his jaw dropped audibly and the blush came back in full force, staining his entire face crimson.

"What?"

"Well, if you sing me somethin', I might know who they are. Simple really. So, sing." Daryl really had no idea why he was actually pursuing the idea; any other time, he would have been smacking himself upside the head for being so completely stupid. He supposed it came down to the fact that, for the first time in years, he just felt completely relaxed. He didn't feel any need to put a cap on what he said or how he acted. He could just _be_.

The kid was really wearing off on him, it was true, but he wasn't sure if it was a bad thing.

"Fine. But if you tell anyone about this, I will kill you while you're sleeping." The kid took a moment to compose himself and for those few seconds, Daryl considered coming out and admitting to Glenn that he was just being a jackass.

But then he started singing and Daryl nearly lost the ability to pay attention to the road. It wasn't because Glenn was a great singer; his voice was kind of wavery and cracked slightly but Daryl supposed that he was nervous. It was because of _what_ he was singing.

" _Don't go wasting your emotion, lay all your love on me._ " Glenn sang a bit more after that but at that one line, Daryl had completely zoned out. The line wasn't from any song he was familiar with but he felt like there was a reason that Glenn had chosen it instead of something that was more recognizable. Maybe he was reading too far into it; maybe it was just wishful thinking that he hadn't even been aware of.

But from the way Glenn's hand had snuck onto his knee, his fingers pressing hard into the denim, Daryl had a feeling that, for once, he was right. Glenn had stopped singing and was looking sideways at him, nibbling on the corner of his lip, cheeks still slightly flushed. Daryl's throat was suddenly dry and he forced himself to swallow through the pinhole his esophagus seemed to have shrank to.

He had the sudden thought that if they hadn't been on the way to the CDC, if they'd hadn't been part of a convoy, he would have pulled the truck over.

"Oh right, them," he finally said, forcing himself to look back at the road. "'Course I know them."

"You're a bastard."

Glenn was smiling too widely for Daryl to take his remark seriously.

It took another half hour to reach the CDC, a half hour that was filled with more conversation. The topics never got that personal; they stayed on the fringes, talking about favourite movies, mainly. For one ten minute stretch, Glenn regaled Daryl with tales from his pizza delivering days and Daryl had to admit, they weren't all stupid.

Overall, he felt... happy. Relaxed. Like he didn't have a care in the world. For that half hour, he didn't think one bit about the walkers. The world outside of the cab of his truck had taken a complete back step to the bubble on the inside. Nothing else existed but him and Glenn and the road.

Then they pulled up to the CDC and he felt his stomach sink into the ground. Even before he stepped outside and nearly gagged from the sickly sweet, overpowering stench of decay, he knew that they had just walked into a death trap. Although the building was surrounded by sandbags, they obviously hadn't done any good; the entire front lawn that surrounded the massive structure was littered with bodies, both of soldiers and civilians. He couldn't see any walkers but he knew that they were close by, ready to swarm them if they made any loud noises.

He closed the door of the pickup as quietly as he could, keeping his crossbow half-raised on his shoulder. The others were quiet, merely staring at the dead that lay all around. Rick Grimes looked especially shaken, his normally pale skin going almost white, throat bobbing nervously. Daryl didn't blame him for being nervous; after all, this had been his idea and by association, if any of them died, it would be his fault.

Hard thing for a man to live with.

Daryl could see that Rick knew this all too well. Nonetheless, he silently went onward, hand on his revolver and Daryl followed, staying near the back of the group, constantly surveying their surroundings. There were plenty of places the walkers could be hiding and he knew that he was probably going to spot them quicker than the others would.

It wasn't something he would ever say out loud, but he also knew that if he was at the back of the group, he had a better chance of making it back to his truck and although that might have been selfish, he didn't quite care. He was going to survive as long as he could, even if that meant leaving some of the others behind.

Nonetheless, he made sure Glenn stuck close to him. That was one person he wasn't willing to just up and abandon.

As they approached the doors, he started to hear it; that tell tale scraping of limp feet on hard ground. He couldn't see any of the bastards yet but he knew it was only a matter of time before they were on them; if they just turned the fuck around and gave the building up for the dead end it obviously was, they would be able to make it back to the cars before it was too late. Rick and Shane were arguing in the background but Daryl paid little attention to them. The hairs on the back of his neck were prickling and that scraping noise was only getting worse with every second that ticked by. If they were going to leave, they had to leave now.

"Hey!" Rick's desperate scream seemed ear-splittingly loud, echoing off of the building that surrounded them. He raced to the front of the structure and slammed his fist into what looked like a massive blast door, the noise far too loud. "Hey! We're not infected!"

The walkers were coming. Even though the light was quickly failing, Daryl could see that there was practically a herd of them, shuffling forward at an alarming speed.

"Rick, we have to go!" he hollered, bringing his crossbow up to firing position. "They're closing in!" The gap between them and their vehicles was closing rapidly; even if they did run at that exact moment, Daryl knew that they were bound to lose at least one person.

"Please!" The children had started to shriek, clinging to their mothers, who were obviously on the verge of wailing themselves. One of the walkers got a little too close for comfort and Daryl nailed it between the eyes, practically splitting its head open with the arrow. But as soon as it dropped, another took its place and he was going to run out of arrows soon and oh God, they were _going to die_ -

When the bright light suddenly appeared, Daryl had the strange thought that he'd already been killed, that he'd already had his throat torn out by the goddamn horde. The bright light must have been Heaven and all the others had apparently ended up with him, frozen in position.

But that didn't make sense. There was absolutely no way that he was in Heaven. The Lord wasn't nearly stupid enough to do that and besides, he didn't believe in Heaven.

But that didn't mean that the bright light wasn't the equivalent of Heaven on Earth.

"Come on!" Rick screamed, finally bolting forwards, pulling Lori along. "Run!"

Daryl didn't need to be told twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... was in an ABBA phase when I wrote this. That phase never really ended, to be honest. But I promise, next chapter makes up for it. xo.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My God. I am so, so sorry for not updating sooner. The holidays have been a little more distracting than I anticipated. Hopefully you enjoy this chapter and once again, I apologize for the ridiculous wait. xx.

Daryl had never really been one for needles. Even though he had more than one tattoo, most of those had been the result of drunken dares that he could barely remember and besides, tattoos were different, somehow. Having Jenner stick a needle in his arm and fill it with blood made his stomach turn just the slightest.

Then again, he'd never much been one for doctors either.

The inside of the CDC had been a lot different than he had expected. He wasn't exactly sure what it was that he _had_ expected to see but the main control room was like a freaking cave, dark and shadowy and absolutely vast. The place echoed like a cave as well; even with the others talking in whispers, he could catch the general gist of their conversations. It was the first time he'd seen some of them smile, Carol for instance; she was sitting at one of the consoles with Lori, both of them holding their children close.

He knew that he was probably grinning a little himself but he also wasn't stupid. The others might have been wrapped up in their little pipe dreams but he knew this was only a temporary reprieve. The place was obviously powered by generators and the instant they ran out of gasoline, they were fucked. He didn't know when that was going to happen; hell, he had absolutely no idea when the power grid had finally went down. They might be able to stay for a few hours, a few days, a week max, but they couldn't stay forever.

Nonetheless. He was damn well going to take advantage of the time they could stay for.

Truthfully, nothing in the little presentation Jenner had shown them had surprised him. He hadn't been the greatest student when it had come to high school biology but he'd known enough to figure right from the get go that the whole thing was caused by a virus. It was nothing more than a really fucked up version of the flu or meningitis or something.

The movies had gotten something right for once.

But he didn't want to think about it anymore. Jenner had told them that there was food and drink and _showers_. He'd been pretty good about scrubbing himself in the quarry but the promise of actual running water was still alluring. As for the food, as much as he didn't mind fresh squirrel, it got a little tedious after awhile.

But the best part of all was that when Jenner told them there was drink, he'd meant alcohol. Daryl wasn't an alcoholic or anything, but he knew how to appreciate a good drink and he figured that after the events of the last few days, they could all use a little something to relax a little. Even if it was for a few hours, they deserved it. The others had jumped at the chance to have a few glasses of wine but he'd snapped up the lone bottle of Johnnie Walker the instant he glimpsed the familiar looking container, buried behind row after row of wine.

At least someone had had good taste.

Dinner was really nothing more than a different variety of canned foods but the fact that it was different than usual was enough for Daryl. They had _vegetables_ and even if he had hated the things as a child, he swallowed down his share of canned peas as soon as they touched his plate. It was funny how time changed your perspective on certain things. He supposed that was true about more than food though.

It was true about Glenn as well. The kid was sitting beside him on the floor, back against the wall of the kitchen they were eating in, wolfing down his food like it was the last meal he'd ever eat. He was sitting close enough for his knee to bump against Daryl's whenever he shifted but Daryl truly didn't mind. The almost constant contact was actually reassuring and as much as he hated to admit it, that was really what he wanted. For a fateful moment outside, he'd been afraid that they were all going to die, that Glenn was going to die and the more he thought about, the more he realized just how scared that thought made him. He wasn't going to bother denying the fact any longer. He cared about the kid. He really did.

Funny the things a near death experience did for you.

He waited until he was done eating to crack open his bottle, which he ended up sharing with Glenn. It wasn't something that he'd planned on doing but all it took was one look from the kid to make him groan and shove the bottle into his hands. His first sip had been absolutely hilarious; Glenn had made a face like someone had punched him in the mouth and it was all Daryl could do to not bust a gut laughing. The kid had obviously not drank any real alcohol before; hell, Daryl didn't even know if Glenn was even legal. He put that on his list of things to talk about before snatching the bottle back and showing Glenn how it was done.

Within the hour, almost everybody who had remained in the room was tipsy at the very least. Andrea had excused herself after dinner but that was understandable; it was all too obvious that the death of her sister had hit her deep and to be truthful, Daryl thought it was a good thing that she wasn't drinking. Chances were that when they all woke up in the morning, she would have offed herself anyways. The thought sounded harsh in his head but Andrea had been way closer to her sister than Daryl was to Merle. He'd never had someone that had cared that much about him.

Well. Maybe that wasn't true anymore.

Speaking of Glenn, the kid's face was turning redder and redder with every additional sip he took from the bottle. Daryl had heard that such a thing happened with Asians but to see it in reality was quite amusing. Glenn didn't seem to mind; Christ, he was actually fucking giggling over something Dale said to him, leaning over so far that his head was practically resting on Daryl's shoulder. Daryl wasn't exactly drunk but he was feeling pleasantly relaxed. His fingers were resting lazily in his lap instead of perpetually reaching for his knife or his crossbow. Glenn attempted to pass the bottle back to him and he shook his head, unable to stop the lazy grin that spread across his face.

"Keep drinkin.' I wanna see how red your face can get." Glenn snorted but he took another sip anyways, his face only scrunching up a little bit. The others were slowly dissipating from the kitchen, drowsy from the foreign combination of a full stomach and alcohol. After a few more minutes, Glenn stood up, using the wall as support, a stray giggle slipping out of his mouth again.

"I think I'm gonna take Jenner up on that shower," he said to no one in particular, wavering slightly even with the support of the wall. "I will see you all in the morning!" For a few moments, Daryl had the thought that maybe he should follow the kid, just to make sure he didn't pass out halfway to the showers, but he decided against it. Relaxed as he was, he really didn't want anyone getting suspicious. Instead, he reclaimed the bottle, relishing in the feeling of the warm liquid trickling down his throat. T-Dog and Dale were the only ones remaining at the table, both of them slightly inebriated, swapping tales. Although he didn't volunteer any of his own, that didn't stop him from listening and occasionally chuckling. Eventually though, even that got boring and he decided to take his turn at a shower.

He wasn't sure when his balance had gotten so shitty but the wall proved to be a very helpful ally as he made his way to the showers. He let Shane finish up before he stepped inside, grabbing a towel from just inside the door. For a few moments, he considered leaving his clothes on; lord knew that they could use a good wash. But, in the end, that didn't seem practical; where the hell was he going to dry them?

He'd just have to put up with them for a little longer.

Although the water was cold, it was still absolutely heavenly. He could actually see his skin getting cleaner, caked on dirt flaking off. Running his fingers through his hair, he actually chuckled, shaking his head once. He'd actually forgotten what it felt like to have clean hair and stupid as the thought was, he really hoped that Jenner had enough fuel stockpiled to keep them sheltered for at least a week.

Much as he hated to admit he, he could really get used to being clean again.

It was only as he slowly made his way back to the room he'd claimed as his own that he started wondering where Glenn was sleeping. He assumed that the kid was going to bunk with Dale or T-Dog or something. Maybe he'd staked out one of those comfy looking couches he'd glanced when he'd gone by the rec room. If so, he didn't blame him; that would have been his second choice but he'd snapped up one of the rooms as soon as he'd walked into the hallway because by God, it had been weeks since he'd slept on anything remotely comfortable and even though the bed wasn't that wide and was probably lumpy as hell, it was still a goddamn bed!

Speaking of his bed, Glenn was lying on it. It took a second for that fact to register in his head, although he wasn't sure if that was due to shock or the alcohol that was still in his system. Probably a mixture of both. However, the fact was that Glenn was lying in his bed, hair still wet and sticking up in odd directions, arms tucked underneath his head. He was wearing a pair of pajama pants that he must have filched from one of the dressers and nothing else.

Good fucking God.

"Took you long enough," he said, raising one eyebrow. "I thought you'd passed out or something."

"You're in my bed." Daryl knew that he was stating the obvious but he really didn't know what else to say. All he was aware of was that Glenn was lying in his bed, looking very fucking desirable and he was standing there, in only a towel, staring at him. There were really only a few ways he could see this situation ending and he wasn't going to lie, they were all happy endings.

"Didn't think you'd mind," Glenn shrugged, curling his toes into the sheets. "I can leave if you want me to." Despite saying this, Glenn made no move to leave; indeed, if anything, he made himself more comfortable, wriggling slightly in a way that made his pajama pants slide down just the slightest.

Jesus.

"Nah, stay," Daryl forced himself to mutter, holding his towel tighter around his waist, "but you should know that I ain't got nothing to sleep in."

"Top drawer of the dresser," Glenn replied, pointing in the general direction of the item of furniture. "Pretty sure no one is gonna mind you stealing a pair." Daryl had the sudden thought that dead people didn't really care about anything but he pushed it away easily. He was _not_ going to think about dead people right now, not when he was slightly drunk and had Glenn half naked in his bed.

As soon as he manoeuvred his way into the pajama pants, he shut off the light and practically collapsed onto the bed. Even with one of his legs dangling over the edge, he was still pressed against Glenn and damn if the kid wasn't warm as hell. He'd noticed before turning the lights out that his skin had lost some of its redness but he was still like a furnace.

Daryl knew that he should have been worried that this didn't feel awkward but he didn't seen the point in that. The fact was that he was lying in the same bed as a man, in only pajama pants (that were slightly too short) and he didn't feel like running for his life.

The bed _was_ pretty fucking small, though.

"Don't think they designed these things with sharing in mind," he said quietly, tucking one of his arms underneath his head. In response, Glenn rolled onto his side, giving Daryl enough room to put his other leg on the bed. The compromise was that Glenn's head ended up resting on his other arm, his still damp hair bringing goosebumps to Daryl's skin. His stomach was doing something odd, all fluttering about and when he realized what it was, he could feel his eyes widen involuntarily.

He had fucking butterflies.

"That better?" Glenn murmured, his voice very close to Daryl's ear. All he could do was nod, adjusting his arm so that he could run his fingers through Glenn's hair, carding through the soft strands. The kid made a soft noise in the back of his throat and Daryl suddenly became aware that Glenn's fingers were resting on his ribs, slowly tracing over them.

Fuck it.

All he needed to do to kiss Glenn was to turn his head; the kid was already meeting him halfway, his arm moving over Daryl's chest to rest on the edge of the bed. Even though he had obviously brushed his teeth, the taste of Johnnie Walker still lingered on his lips and Daryl couldn't get enough of it. His fingers tightened in Glenn's hair, drawing out that wonderful noise again that sounded suspiciously like a moan. When Glenn's tongue pressed against his bottom lip, he didn't resist, meeting it with his own.

He'd never really thought about it before, but the kid was one hell of a kisser.

It didn't seem like much longer before Glenn was hovering over him, weight resting on his elbows, pajama pants leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. This time however, when he tentatively pressed his hips down, Daryl responded accordingly, unable to bite back a groan at the truly wonderful friction that occurred. When he did it again, pressing up harder, Glenn actually yanked away from his mouth and moaned, burying his face into Daryl's neck. Daryl didn't think he'd ever heard a sound so arousing.

He was proven wrong by the next thing that came out of Glenn's mouth.

"I want to touch you." Daryl was pretty sure that he was completely incapable of speaking coherently at that point; all he could do was groan again, pressing his fingers into the back of Glenn's neck. He wanted, he wanted Glenn so much and he was completely fine with Glenn doing whatever the hell he wanted to him.

"Please Daryl?"

"God, go right ahead," he managed to say, completely distracted by the way his name had sounded coming of Glenn's mouth. He didn't think he ever wanted to hear anyone else say it, didn't think that anyone else would be able to match the sheer sound of it flowing over Glenn's lips.

He wondered what it would sound like if Glenn legitimately moaned his name.

But then Glenn's hand was on him, gently pressing against his cock through his pajama pants and Daryl just plain stopped thinking for awhile. His fingers were scrambling for something to hold onto and he twisted them into the sheets, unable to stop himself from bucking his hips upward. For the first time in his life, he was truly at someone else's mercy and he wasn't backing down for anything.

When Glenn's fingers slipped inside his pants, trailing over his hip bones first, he literally had to bite back a groan, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. It'd been a long time since he'd gotten off; it wasn't like it had been at the top of his to-do list, after all. As it was, the skin to skin contact made his nerve endings flare, like he'd been mildly electrocuted. Glenn rolled back onto his side to make things easier and Daryl's fingers moved from the sheets to his hair once again, tugging gently.

He was a little embarrassed by how quickly he came but there was no way he could hold off; the kid had fucking talented hands and once that mouth of his had started nipping at Daryl's neck and collarbone, there was no fucking way he could hold off. Even with the lights off, his vision was flooded with brightness and he was vaguely aware that he was biting his own fist to disguise the rather loud noises coming out of his mouth. His heart rate had gone through the roof; he was convinced that he could feel it hammering against his rib cage harder and harder with each moment that went by.

And then, it was over and he was panting, hips jerking upward when Glenn's hand brushed over his too-sensitive skin. He wanted to say something but he couldn't find the breath. For his part, Glenn wasn't talking either; he merely kissed Daryl's neck again, drawing out another groan, before clambering off of the bed. Before Daryl could even wonder where he was going, he was back, wiping off his stomach with what felt like the towel he'd walked in wearing.

Well, it wasn't like it was his towel anyways.

Even with the lights off and his eyes shut, Daryl could tell that Glenn was hesitating; he was standing within arm's reach of the bed but he wasn't moving. Daryl was about ninety percent sure that the kid was probably gnawing on his own lip and he swung his arm outwards, fingers catching Glenn's pajama pants.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He tugged on his pants hard enough to actually yank Glenn down on top of him again. He may have been tired as hell (with good reason) but he wasn't an asshole. He was going to return the favor; it was really the least he could do.

"Daryl, what are you-" The instant Daryl slid his hand inside Glenn's pants, pressing against his erection, he shut up, his words trailing off into another one of those wonderful little whimpers.

"It's not like I was just gonna leave you like that," Daryl murmured, pressing his face into the kid's neck. "Who the hell you think I am?"

"I don't... fuck..." Glenn's head drooped on his neck, his forehead resting on Daryl's shoulder. The position meant that all of his little noises and moans were right against Daryl's ear and damn if they weren't some of the hottest things he'd heard in his lifetime. Somewhere in the back of his head, a little part of Daryl had been petrified that he was going to freeze up, that he wouldn't be able to go through with his side of the equation but that part of him had quickly been silenced. For reasons he wasn't entirely sure of, nothing about touching Glenn seemed awkward; if he was being completely honest, it felt right.

And besides, he loved knowing that he was, for once in his life, making somebody completely happy. Even though Glenn was probably being just a bit too loud (Daryl had no idea how thick the walls were), he couldn't bring himself to make the kid shut up. He liked hearing Glenn getting off, liked hearing that it was him that he was moaning for.

It was an ego boost, there was no doubt about it.

Although his wrist was beginning to hurt by the time Glenn came, the slight pain was worth the final whimper that came from his mouth, slightly muffled by the fact that he'd sunk his teeth into Daryl's shoulder. His entire body shook for a few minutes and he was panting heavily, breath ghosting over Daryl's neck. When he finally rolled off of Daryl however, it was in the wrong direction; he'd rolled off the bed and, although he couldn't see, Daryl believed that he was headed for the door.

"Where in the hell are you goin?" he groaned, groping around for the towel and wiping his hand off.

"I was gonna go sleep on the couch." If he hadn't been minutes away from passing out, Daryl would have clapped a hand to his forehead. Glenn was undoubtedly one of the most confusing people he'd ever fucking met.

He had a feeling Glenn probably felt the same way about him, however.

"Will you just get back over here?" Seconds after extending the invitation, Daryl found himself in nearly the exact same position they'd begun in; Glenn's head resting on his shoulder, one arm around his narrow back, the other tucked underneath his head. He didn't even bother trying to justify the position by citing the size of the bed. Truthfully, it was comfortable and that was really all he cared about. If the others walked in for some reason, fuck 'em. His eyes quickly fluttered shut and he was almost asleep in minutes.

Almost.

"Daryl?"

"What do you want?"

"Thank you."

Daryl didn't bother asking what the kid was thanking him for; it was too late and he was too exhausted to talk anymore. He'd figure it out in the morning.

Nonetheless, for what was probably the first time in literally a decade, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to God, I'll get the chapters I've already written up soon. I keep getting distracted by university. =/ In the meantime, I hope you lovely readers enjoy this chapter. (:
> 
> PS: the events of this chapter don't exactly correspond with those of the episode they take place in. Just so everyone knows. (:

He should have known that the CDC was too good to be true.

The morning had started out... well, pretty damn great, as far as he was concerned. When he woke up, he was lying on his back still, one arm dangling off the bed and brushing against the floor, the other stretched out beside him. It only took him a few seconds to realize that Glenn was still in bed with him; indeed, he seemed to have gotten even closer during the night, if that was possible. He was lying on Daryl's chest, his soft hair tickling over Daryl's collarbone. He was still fast asleep and Daryl took advantage of that fact, letting his mind and eyes wander. Apparently they'd kicked the blanket off in the middle of the night and that fact awarded Daryl with a full view of Glenn's form. The kid's toes were nearly dangling off the end of the bed, even with one of his knees draped over Daryl's leg. One of his arms was tucked underneath him while the other was slung over Daryl's hips, brushing over territory that had the potential to become dangerous very quickly.

Jesus, the kid was clinging to him like a spider monkey or some shit, but damn if Daryl didn't like it a little bit.

"What are you looking at?" It took him a moment to realize that Glenn was awake, even if his eyes were still shut. His grip on Daryl's hip tightened a little and he stretched his legs out like a cat.

"Nothing," Daryl muttered, averting his gaze to the ceiling. Glenn snorted and sat up, his back popping in numerous places.

"You're a bad liar, you know that?" Daryl felt a slight twinge of anger stir in his stomach but it was obvious from his ridiculous grin that Glenn was just messing with him. He really needed to work on that.

"Okay, so maybe I was lookin' at something," he said, feeling a grin of his own start to spread, "but I ain't telling you what."

"I'm sure I can figure it out." Glenn was hovering over him now, propped up on one elbow, his grin gone. That nervous look was back in his eyes, that tentative look that asked _can I_? Daryl just nodded and the kid leaned down to give him possibly the sweetest little peck he'd ever received. When he pulled back, he was blushing in such a way that showed just how young he was. Daryl must have been at least a decade older than him, maybe more and that thought briefly made him recoil slightly. But only briefly; after all, who was there to care about that kind of thing anymore? Besides, he'd seen the looks Dale had been giving Andrea and she was probably thirty years his junior.

Wasn't like they had much of a choice in the matter anyways. With pickings being pretty scarce, Daryl didn't think age was really that important.

"Good morning to you too," he murmured, propping himself up against the wall. Even without a shirt or the blanket, he was pretty warm, which was odd. Must have been what woke him up.

No, that wasn't it. He sat up straighter, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, ears pricking up once again. There was something missing, a sound that had been lingering in the background the night before. It was the absence of noise that had awoken him, he was sure of it now, but what the hell was missing?

"The air conditioner," Glenn said, filling in the blank. "It isn't on anymore."

***

Funny how just one sentence could ruin your day. And with every minute that ticked by on the giant clock above them, things were just going from better to worse. The women and children were crying, huddled together with their things like they believed they could shield each other from the blast. Rick was trying his best to reason with Jenner, his words coming out in quiet, vicious sounding whispers. Daryl was proud that the man was trying to stick up for them, but talking things out really wasn't going to work. And since the former deputy had stopped him when he'd attempted to knock the doctor's head off his shoulders with an axe (which, he admitted, was probably a good move on Rick's part), he did the only thing he was truly comfortable with.

He lashed out at something else; in this case, the steel blast doors that had closed off the control room. He knew very well that he was getting nowhere; not even a nuke could probably get past the damn thing. But he needed to be doing something, needed to; he refused to just sit on his ass and accept the fucking situation. He was not going down without putting up a fight, was going to kick and holler and bite until the last fucking second.

Part of him wanted to scream _this isn't goddamn fair_! It wasn't fair that, as soon as something good arrived in his life (well, as good as it was gonna get, at least), he was going to get shut down. That same part of him just wanted to sit down on the ground and yell. But he wasn't a child and tantrums weren't going to get anything accomplished. At least if he did his very best, he wouldn't have to see disappointment in the eyes of the others, wouldn't have to die with the knowledge that he'd failed them.

That would be a hell of a way to die.

Shane had started out pounding on the door beside him with a sledgehammer or something but he'd given up, his eyes fixed on Rick. Curious as he was to see how the deputy was getting along with his efforts at diplomacy, he couldn't afford to take a break because he could feel eyes fixed upon his back.

Glenn. A surge of emotion threatened to take over his mind at the very thought of the kid but Daryl forced the surge back, shoving it into the recesses of his brain for the moment being. He'd let his emotions out when it was time for the end, but not until then.

When the doors slid open, he nearly brought the axe down upon his toes, and wouldn't _that_ have been a fucking mess. For a few, precious seconds, he actually believed that he'd done it, that he'd split the doors open with sheer desperation and strength alone. But when he afforded himself a look backwards, he could see that Jenner was merely staring at him with that creepily resigned face, his fingers still resting on the console of one of the many computers. There was no point in sending the man a thankful gesture of any kind; they needed to start moving, now.

Fight or flight had never seemed so important.

"C'mon, let's go!" he hollered, tightening his grip on the axe and booking it as fast as he could, hearing the others pounding on the floor behind him. When he reached the elevator, he skidded to a stop, giving the rest of the group a few seconds to catch up. It was seconds they really couldn't spare but he wasn't about to go and leave anyone behind. Glenn came flying around the corner first, nearly crashing into him. He had his backpack and Daryl's crossbow slung over his back and the sight of the latter nearly made Daryl reach out and kiss him. He'd completely forgotten about the thing in the mayhem but of course, Glenn hadn't.

The kid really was becoming necessary in his life.

He didn't have any time to ruminate on that thought; as soon as Rick rounded the corner, they were piling into the elevator, nearly closing the door before they were all inside. Under the desperate gasps for breath and sobs, Daryl could hear someone, possibly Lori, questioning about the others and it was only then that Daryl realized they were missing people; Andrea, Dale and Jaqui. Andrea didn't come as a surprise; she'd been practically catatonic since she'd lost her sister, after all. This was what she'd been waiting for. Dale's absence _was_ a little bit of a surprise but it only confirmed what Daryl had been expecting for some time. The old man really cared about Andrea and, even if she had been blind to it, he was willing to give up his life for her.

It was almost romantic, if you squinted.

Jaqui on the other hand... Daryl had never really gotten to know Jaqui. He'd seen her around the camp obviously but he was fairly certain they'd never shared any words. Especially not with Merle around; his brother never would have let him hear the end of it if he'd caught him associating with a woman of 'her color.' And now, she was going to die and Daryl didn't know a single thing about her.

He didn't know who to be angry with; Merle for instilling that fear in him or himself for listening to it.

Either way, it didn't matter, because the elevator was opening and they were practically falling out, tripping over each other in their eagerness to get out of the godforsaken place. They were in a lobby surrounded by glass but even as he glanced around, Daryl could feel his stomach drop. There was no way this glass was going to break with a simple bullet or a swing of the axe he was still lugging in his hands. Unless they had a rocket launcher, they were all going to die and, if the influx of terrified sobs was any measure, the others had just become aware of that same fact.

In one swift moment, he felt all the fight go out of him and he slumped against the wall, the axe dangling in his fingertips. They were so close, could probably smell the freedom if they pressed their noses against the glass, yet all they could do was look at it. So close and yet so, so brutally far away. The ultimate fuck you from God.

He couldn't do it anymore. He'd been fighting his entire life and in the end, what did he have to show for it? Nothing. Nothing at all, save for too many scars. When he looked up, he locked eyes with the kid, who made a beeline for him, crossbow still secured on his back.

"Daryl, what are you doing?" he frantically whispered, glancing back at the others. Shane and Rick were hollering at each other out of sheer desperation; Daryl could practically smell their fear from the other side of the room. The others were all watching them, thankfully distracted enough that Daryl felt comfortable grabbing Glenn's hand, entwining their fingers together. He knew that his grip was probably too tight but Glenn just clutched back, nails digging into the back of Daryl's hand.

"It can't just happen like this," he whispered and Daryl was certain that he caught a glimpse of a solitary tear glittering in the corner of Glenn's eye. "We can't just survive those... things and then get blown sky high!"

"We can and we're about to," Daryl growled, swallowing heavily. His throat seemed to have closed to the size of a pinhole and talking was growing exceptionally difficult. "But there are worse people I could be dying with."

"Daryl..."

"Would this work?" Before Glenn could finish his sentence, Carol was speaking, her soft voice much louder than usual. From within the confines of the shapeless bag she always wore, slung low on her hip, she had produced a single grenade. Daryl didn't hear her explanation for where the thing had come from; he was too busy debating between shaking her for not bringing it up earlier and kissing her for remembering it at all.

In the end, he decided to do neither; instead, he pressed himself against the wall, fingers in ears, hoping to God that their last grasp at survival would land true. Glenn was pressed against his side, face against his shoulder, mouthing words against his skin. Daryl supposed he was praying; hell, they probably all were. Except him.

Despite being prepared for it, the explosion still took him by surprise, his heart jolting painfully in his chest. The grenade didn't blow the glass out, but it certainly weakened it and it rejuvenated Daryl's ability to fight. Almost before the noise had finished ringing out, he was up and running, swinging the axe into the window with all the strength he could muster. Three solid blows later, the pane was tumbling, crashing around him like rain.

He was pretty sure that the sound of the tinkling glass hitting the floor was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard.

They had precious seconds remaining and he didn't plan on wasting them; the instant there was a path, he bolted, ignoring the stabbing pain of needles of glass embedded in his bare arms. There were a few walkers lounging around the lawn, slowly turning to groan when they saw the parade of flesh coming their way, but there was no time to go out of the way and deal with them. Daryl settled for dispatching one that was right in front of him, cleaving its head off in one fell swoop. By the time they reached the vehicles, he was beginning to get even more frantic; his internal clock was telling him that time was almost up and if they were still in the open air when the building exploded, he had a bad feeling about what would happen.

"Daryl!" Glenn was leaping over the row of sandbags, bringing up the rear. For a fraction of a second, Daryl thought that he saw someone else coming but he couldn't focus on it; as soon as Glenn was within arm's reach, he opened the passenger door of his pickup and practically tossed him in, quickly following.

He didn't even have time to close the door before everything was on fire. Even with his face buried into Glenn's neck and his eyes closed, he could see the blinding white light as the entire building exploded. That was swiftly followed by a gust of heat so intense that he believed his skin had blistered. Even once that had passed, however, he didn't dare to move; he could still hear rumbling as the CDC crumbled to the ground. It was only once that had stopped, replaced by the crackling of fire, that he sat up, his chest aching from where the crossbow had dug into it. Glenn sat up as well, yanking the weapon and his backpack off before letting his hands rest on his neck, nails digging into his skin.

"Oh my God," he whispered, summing up Daryl's impression of the situation as well. Where the building had once stood, now there was only fire, reaching and leaping for the sky. Black smoke plumed into the air, easily blocking out the sun. It was nothing short of complete and utter destruction and just looking at it filled Daryl's gut with nothing less than complete and utter despair.

"Oh my God," Glenn said once again, tearing his gaze away and pressing his face into Daryl's neck, clinging to him tight enough to make his bones groan in protest. Nonetheless, Daryl clung right back, ignoring everything his mind told him. It was only a matter of seconds before his skin was growing damp with tears but he merely buried his face into Glenn's hair, taking deep breaths, hoping like hell that the kid wouldn't notice that his scalp was getting progressively damper.

It was the first time he'd cried in at least five years.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am an idiot who keeps forgetting to update this. -bonks face off of wall- However, now that I've finally remember, the last chapters that have already been written will be uploaded here and then I shall get to work on a new chapter. I mean that. xx.

They drove in silence until the day turned into night. This happened quickly, too quickly and it was only as their little caravan pulled off to a clearing on the side of the road that Daryl realized that the clock on his dashboard read a quarter to five.

The smoke from the CDC had blackened out the sun.

Up until they pulled over, Daryl and Glenn didn't speak to each other. Truthfully, Daryl wasn't sure if he was even capable of speaking; he'd been shell-shocked on the deepest level possible and even though he tried to get over it, he just fell back into that state of panic. His walls had completely fallen down (for the moment, at least) and he was filled instead with grim certainty. He was positive that they had just lost the only safe haven they'd ever have; from here on out, it was just going to be a slow death. They'd have to watch each other be picked off, one by one, until the last of them just bit their own bullet. What was that quote he'd heard once, that the world died not with a bang but with a whimper? That was what was going to happen, he was sure of it; the last sound any human made would be a sniffle, a brief sob before they blew their brains out the back of their skull.

What the fuck was the point? If they were going to die anyways, what was the point in prolonging it? Why not just end it now, when at least they could go on their own terms?

The brief cough from beside his ear both startled him from his reverie and answered his questions. Even though him and Glenn didn't say anything to each other, they weren't completely separated. Indeed, for the entire ride, no matter how brief, Glenn had forgone the passenger seat and had instead settled himself in the middle, his head leaning on Daryl's shoulder. The position briefly reminded Daryl of days long gone by, of evenings spent driving back roads with some pretty girl tucked up against him.

But the reminder was only brief, because Glenn was _definitely_ not a girl and there was nothing relaxing about how they were. Glenn's fingers were holding the hem of his shirt, twisting the fabric until Daryl was sure it was going to rip, but he didn't bother saying anything. He was pretty certain it was a matter of security, of needing to feel safe.

If he hadn't have been driving, he probably would have done the same thing.

The clearing they pulled over at wasn't very large; Daryl couldn't be certain in the dark but he thought it might have been one of those picnic spots you saw at the side of highways. Nonetheless, with some manoeuvring, it was large enough for them to park all the vehicles in a protective circle. Shane and Rick set up a fire, although it was mostly for light purposes; they only had a few cans of food remaining, some dusty things of soup and meat that Carol dug out of the very back of the RV's pantry. The paltry serving barely made a dent in Daryl's stomach but he supposed that it was better than nothing.

Most of the others didn't bother to set up their tents, preferring to remain in the vehicles, but Daryl wasn't going to do that. The truck's cab was rather tiny and if he got a leg cramp from sleeping the wrong way, it might just end up being the pen that signed his execution warrant.

Wouldn't that be ironic?

On top of that, he had a hunch that he wouldn't be sleeping alone that night. The bed of the truck would have fit two easily but it wasn't exactly the most private place in the world and, much as Daryl cared about Glenn, he still wasn't entirely comfortable with the notion of everyone else finding out. That could wait.

In the meantime, he had to set up his tent. Glenn had gone off almost as soon as they'd parked, gathering up firewood and distracting the kids while Carol and Lori had cooked, but he came over in time to help Daryl jam the last tent peg into the ground. He looked a little better but his eyes still had that haunted look in them, that gaze that made Daryl's stomach drop somewhere below his feet. He'd seen that look before when he was a kid and he'd seen it in Andrea's eyes, ever since that night at the camp where everything had gone right to hell.

He was _not_ going to let the kid go down Andrea's path.

"I'm going to take the first watch shift," Glenn murmured quietly as he made sure the last peg was jammed in the ground. To any of the others, it would have looked like he was just helping Daryl and that in itself wasn't suspicious, especially not that particular day. "Could I-"

"I'll be awake," Daryl said. "Doubt I'll sleep at all tonight."

Everyone retired early that evening and Daryl was no exception. The fire was still burning fairly bright but there was no point in sitting around it; he'd just be doing the same thing he was doing lying in his tent, where it was cooler.

No matter where he was, he'd just be waiting for Glenn and trying not to think. He wasn't having very good luck with the latter task; his mind was going too fast, racing through thoughts at lightning quick speed. It was nearly overwhelming, especially the sheer amount of fear bombarding him. He'd been raised to believe that men didn't show their emotions and they especially didn't show when they were scared. Both of those had stuck in his head and although he was starting to (slowly) get used to telling people how he felt, the fear was still a foreign thing to him. The more he thought about it, willingly or not, the more paralyzed he felt.

The kid finished watch at the best possible time; if he had been even twenty minutes later, Daryl was certain that Glenn would have opened the tent to find him dead from sheer fright. As it was, his shadow looming outside yanked him from his brain with a jolt, making him sit up. Even though he was as far away from the fire as possible, Daryl was still warm and it took him a few seconds to get his breath back as Glenn fumbled with the zipper, cursing quietly under his breath. As he wiped a thin sheen of sweat off of his forehead, Daryl couldn't help but ponder the fact that he already missed running water and showers.

But then Glenn was inside, zipping up the tent and taking off his shoes and his baseball hat. Daryl swallowed heavily because now that the kid was inside, his eyes had changed. He didn't look so scared anymore; what he did look was _desperate_. His teeth were gnawing on his lower lip again, working the skin until it was gleaming and his fingers were clenching into his own jeans, scratching against the worn fabric.

"C'mere," Daryl finally managed to say, the word barely louder than a whisper. That was all it took for Glenn to lunge at him, nearly knocking him over. Somehow, he managed to stay sitting up and he pulled Glenn into his lap, already diving for his mouth. Their lips hit together hard but they both ignored the pain, pressing harder. Daryl _needed_ the pain, needed to know that he was still alive and could still feel something. He needed a reason to keep going and, even though he was the furthest thing from a psychiatrist, he had a feeling Glenn needed the same thing.

He was more than happy to provide that.

His hands seemed to have a different agenda than his mind; even though he wanted to slow things down a little, to drag them out as long as possible, his fingers were already scrabbling at the hem of Glenn's shirt, yanking it over his head and tossing it into a corner of the tent. As soon as his skin was exposed, Daryl took advantage of it, pressing his mouth anywhere he would reach; shoulder, collarbone, the hollow of Glenn's throat. That last spot in particular seemed to do the trick, making Glenn dig his fingers into Daryl's neck, no doubt leaving marks.

"I thought that I was going to lose you," Daryl muttered, punctuating each word with an open mouthed kiss. "And it fucking _scared_ me."

"Me too," Glenn groaned, those blunt fingernails of his pressing into Daryl's shoulder. "Don't want to lose you. I need you." That last bit filled Daryl with an array of conflicting thoughts and feelings. On one hand, the practical side of him wanted to tell Glenn that he'd be perfectly fine on his own; he was fast, he knew how to stay out of trouble and where to look for supplies. If there was anyone who would survive this shitshow, it would be Glenn.

But for once, Daryl didn't give a damn what the logical side of his brain was saying. He didn't think anyone had ever said those words to him and actually meant them, at least not with such certainty. It scared him and he felt like he was drowning again but this time, he welcomed it. Glenn was yanking at his shirt and he gladly relinquished it, the skin to skin contact sending shivers down his spine. He knew that he needed to say something in return, let Glenn know that the feeling was definitely mutual but his ability to say anything other than half formed words and stray syllables seemed to have disappeared.

So he did it the way he'd been taught to solve all his problems: physically. His mind blanked out and all he could feel was the nearly overwhelming need flowing through him. One moment, Glenn had been in his lap, grinding his hips down in halting movements; the next, Daryl had him flipped onto his back, fingers working on both of their buttons. Even before their jeans were below their hips, Glenn was attempting to hide the small noises working out of his mouth, turning his face into Daryl's pillow. Daryl was having a little more success at being quiet, but not much; he'd never really been a man for making noise but Glenn was sorely testing that conviction, arching his spine and slowly running his nails down Daryl's back.

In the end, the only way either of them could be quiet was to keep their mouths otherwise occupied. Daryl was pretty sure he'd never experienced such rough kisses, all clashing teeth and bruising lips but he definitely wasn't complaining. It was primal, basic instinct, something he was quite familiar with from participating in years of bar fights. By the time he came, his hips stuttering forward against Glenn's, he was pretty sure that he looked like he'd been in yet another one of those fights; Glenn's nails and teeth had been relentless, constantly moving, like they had a point to prove. Daryl couldn't say for sure (his hands had been holding on to Glenn's hips for dear life) but he had a feeling that there was some sort of basic instinct behind all the scratches and bites that littered his skin. He wasn't going to come right out and ask the kid if he'd been making an attempt to mark him but he was fairly certain that he was right.

Afterwards, once they were all cleaned up (Daryl made a mental note to soak the shirt he'd used as a towel in the next river or spring they saw), Daryl found himself still unable to sleep. It wasn't from lack of exhaustion; indeed, his whole body seemed to be aching all at once. But there was still something eating away at the back of his mind, an issue he had to resolve before uncertainty ate away at him for the rest of the night. The things that Glenn had said had been amazing, had made him _feel_ amazing but they wouldn't have been the first wonderful things Daryl had been told during sex that turned out to be lies. He had to know straight up.

Glenn was lying beside him, wearing only his boxers, hair stuck to his forehead. His eyes were shut, so Daryl couldn't assess if he still looked desperate and scared, but he was smiling slightly, mouth turned up at the corners. That seemed to be a good sign but as much as Daryl was enjoying the view, he nonetheless had to ask.

"You meant that, right?" Glenn opened one eye and squinted at Daryl, his smile twisting into an expression of confusion.

"That stuff, about... needing me, and shit," Daryl clarified, feeling his cheeks grow even warmer. "Cause if that was all lies, you need to tell me, now."

"You honestly think I was lying to you?" Glenn opened both of his eyes and sat up, absently running his fingers over a bite mark on Daryl's shoulder. "Why would I do that?"

"Don't know," Daryl shrugged, feeling oddly sheepish, "guess it's just what I'm used to, s'all." Glenn chuckled and dropped his forehead onto Daryl's shoulder, hair brushing against his neck. Daryl wasn't exactly sure what that chuckle meant so he only stayed silent, glancing down at Glenn's tousled mop of hair.

"I'm probably not the first person to say this to you, but you _can_ believe what I say," he murmured, the words nearly lost into Daryl's skin. "The only thing I have to gain from lying to you is an arrow in the ass and I think you should save those for the geeks." Daryl didn't bother holding back a snort; the kid did have a very valid point, after all, even if it was phrased in a way that rather reminded him of himself.

Good God, they really were wearing off on each other.

"I meant what I said, Daryl." Glenn pulled away and the words that came out of his mouth couldn't be mistaken for any others. "I do need you, and I really hope you don't have a problem with that, otherwise-"

Daryl had no idea what else Glenn planned on saying, because he kissed him as hard as he could before the rest of the words could come out. He felt warm all over, warm and pleasant and happy and he once more ignored the logical part of his brain, the part that was screaming _this is fucking dangerous_.

'Course it was dangerous, him getting this attached to one person. But everything was dangerous; in the end, why the hell did it matter?

Once Glenn got his breath back (and didn't that make Daryl proud?), he fell asleep pretty quickly, head resting on Daryl's chest for lack of a pillow. Daryl was nearly right behind him, his eyes slamming shut as soon as he laid back down, mind (for the moment) calm. But he wouldn't allow himself to sleep until he said one last thing, something that he still couldn't make himself say when Glenn was conscious.

"You know kid, I kinda need you too."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this is the second time I've updated in roughly twenty-four hours so make sure you've read chapter 14 before reading this. (:
> 
> In addition, there is one detail in particular that I have changed in relation to the episode this takes place in. If you notice it, great! If you don't, well that's okay too. xx.

When Daryl awoke, it was with a jolt and the remnants of a nightmare still lingering in his mind. The content of the nightmare had already disappeared but the feelings it had brought on remained, making his gut churn like he'd been kicked in the stomach. Or maybe that was just from the hunger that was gnawing away at him, nearly impossible to ignore. Whatever it was, he felt terrible, like he hadn't slept a bit. His body still ached with exhaustion and his eyes were crusted at the corners, which he rubbed at viciously. He had no idea what time it was but he couldn't hear anyone else moving about, which meant that it was probably around dawn. Glenn was-

He sat up abruptly, flicking his eyes around the tent. Glenn was nowhere to be found; indeed, the only sign that he had been in the tent at all was the fading scent of sweat and sex. For a few moments, Daryl felt his mind kick into overdrive as he ran through all the possibilities; had there been an attack that he'd slept through? Had Glenn gotten up in the middle of the night and then got killed by a walker? Jesus Christ, what if he had gotten lost in the woods or something?

Taking a deep breath, Daryl did the only thing he could think of to make his thoughts straighten out; he slapped himself in the face as hard as he could, puncturing his lip slightly. Much as he'd hated (and still hated) his old man for whomping him when him and Merle were growing up, he had to admit that pain certainly cleared the mind out. Pulling a shirt on and grabbing his crossbow, Daryl unzipped his tent and stepped out into the small clearing, barely illuminated by the gray dawn. The air smelled like smoke and when Daryl took a deep breath, he nearly choked on the thick, industrial taste that sat on his tongue. If the world had still been up and running, he knew that the environmentalists would have been having a fucking field day with the damage the burning of the CDC was doing to the atmosphere. But there were way more important things to worry about then inhaling some chemicals and as Daryl took a moment to survey the camp, he realized just how fucked the situation was.

The fact was that they'd let their brief stay at the CDC fatten them up, both literally and metaphorically. They'd accepted the safety too quickly and with no qualms; they hadn't prepared for the inevitable. And now, they were almost completely out of food, nearly out of gas and even their supply of bullets was dangerously low. They had nothing going in their favor but if they didn't get up and move, they had no chance at all.

"Morning Daryl." The weary voice came from on top of the RV and Daryl turned to see Rick Grimes perched in one of the tattered chairs, nearly hidden in the early morning shadows. Even from a distance, the deputy looked like he hadn't slept a wink; his shoulders were slumping and his head seemed heavy on his neck. He ran one hand over his cheeks, revolver dangling by his fingers. He looked entirely different from the Rick that Daryl was used to; confident but frightened, the determined man with a plan. Now he just looked tired and aged beyond his years. Then again, Daryl supposed that they all did, even the little ones.

"Mornin,'" he returned, making his way over to the RVs's rickety ladder. "Mind if I come up?"

"Be my guest." As he pulled himself up, Daryl used the higher vantage point to look over the camp again, hoping to catch a glimpse of Glenn. Rick chuckled quietly and Daryl snapped his head around, feeling his stomach flip again even as he projected the most menacing glare he could muster.

"What the hell you laughing at?" he muttered, not sure that he wanted to know the answer to the question.

"Glenn's in your truck," Rick said, nodding his head towards the vehicle. "Climbed out of your tent 'bout an hour ago. I don't think he saw me up here." For a few moments, Daryl found himself actually rendered speechless. Part of him ( _most_ of him) wanted to resort to violence, to threaten Rick with pain if he didn't remain silent about what he'd saw. But the former deputy didn't seem to have a problem with what he'd witnessed; he was continuing to sit, corners of his mouth quirked up in a half-smile that didn't reach his exhausted eyes. There seemed to be no antagonism in Rick Grimes.

"Listen Rick," he started but Rick held up a hand, effectively cutting him off. Daryl couldn't help but wonder whether Rick really knew just how much authority he was capable of conveying.

"Daryl, I'm not gonna tell anyone," he said, lowering his hand again. "I don't know what's going on and frankly, it isn't any of my business. Just… be careful, okay?" Daryl bit down words that he knew weren't needed; there was no point in asking what Rick meant because he already knew. The man was just vocalizing thoughts that Daryl was already having, that he was trying so desperately to ignore.

"Already working on it," he muttered.

They moved camp only an hour or so later; there was no point in sticking around, after all. Shane and Rick had gotten into a little bit of a scuffle regarding where their next target should be but, from what Daryl had overheard, they hadn't come to a decision. Both of the men looked like they were about to snap. Rick had deteriorated even further in the brief time and Shane was tense enough to bounce quarters off of. Everyone in the camp was strung like a trip wire and Daryl knew that it was only a matter of time before someone did something minor that set them all off.

He just hoped that it wasn't him that did so.

Glenn had woken up only briefly when Daryl had climbed behind the wheel before dozing off again, this time with his head on Daryl's shoulder. He looked like he hadn't slept well either; there were heavy bags under his eyes and he kept making quiet noises, noises almost like whimpers. Nonetheless, Daryl had to admit that he enjoyed being used as a pillow; the situation had an odd domestic feeling about it. It felt... like home, almost. Not _his_ home, of course; cuddles had been in short supply in the Dixon household. But the feeling still stood.

It only made sense that his truck would kick the bucket, just as he was accepting the notion of feeling at home. The gas gauge had been hovering on empty for quite some time but he'd crossed his fingers anyways, hoping that it would be able to cruise on fumes for just a few more miles. But they'd barely gotten twenty minutes away from their camping spot before it started to cough and splutter, making absolutely horrendous noises that made Daryl wince. Although he hated to draw further attention to their convoy (they really needed to get more walkie-talkies), he honked the horn once, signaling the others that he needed to pull over. The noise of the horn woke Glenn up in an instant and he whipped his head around, immediately at attention.

"What happened?" he asked, fingers closing around his baseball bat that he'd stashed on the floor of the truck.

"Nothin' kid," Daryl said, pulling over to the side of the road. "Truck's fucked is all. Looks like I'll have to get Merle's bike out of the back."

"Looks like I'll be moving back into the RV then," Glenn signed, running a hand through his already mussed up hair before jamming his hat onto his head. "Never liked the thought of riding a motorcycle."

"Who said I was gonna invite you anyways?" For a moment, Glenn actually looked hurt and Daryl immediately kicked himself; he really wasn't very good at this teasing thing. That moment passed quickly however and when Glenn grinned, Daryl found himself sighing from relief.

He also found himself wincing slightly when Glenn punched him in the arm. But only slightly.

Leaving the truck behind actually wasn't as hard as he'd figured. There was a twinge of nostalgia; after all, the truck had been in their family for a decade and a half, passing from his Pa to Merle and finally, to him once Merle landed himself in prison. But in the end, he merely gave it one last pat before transferring his stuff to the RV and climbing on Merle's bike. The thing immediately roared to life and he couldn't help the grin that spread across his face; it had been way too long since he'd felt the wind. He definitely hadn't missed the bugs in the mouth but that was a small price to pay.

He couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like to have Glenn sitting behind him though. Kid probably would have shrieked like a girl and wouldn't that have been a funny sight?

For awhile, their convoy actually made fairly good progress; there were a few spots where the RV had to actually push some abandoned vehicles off of the road to get by but nonetheless, things seemed to be going well. Therefore, it was only a matter of time before things went completely ass over heels and when Daryl noticed the solid black line on the horizon, he knew that they were about to hit a massive fucking wall. There were vehicles as far as the eye could see, piled on top of each other and tangled together in a massive goddamn mess. If he'd been on his own, he knew that he could have made his way through, even if it required making use of the median or the shoulder. But with the vehicles, they were pretty well screwed. Theoretically, the RV could probably shove its way through but Daryl had a feeling that if they tried that method, the ancient thing would probably blow up; it looked like it was on its last legs as it was.

Rick and Shane were already discussing how to proceed and Daryl had a feeling that the conversation was quickly going to escalate into an argument, based on the way Shane kept clenching his hands into fists at his side. He was really too tired and simply didn't care enough about where they went to get involved so he decided to move further ahead up the road and search some of the vehicles for supplies. Most of the cars were empty; it seemed like most of the people had tried to risk it on foot. Doors and trunks were left wide open and in the back of a Dodge Caravan, he found an entire crate of canned goods, along with some men's clothing that looked like it would fit him. There were some kid's books tucked into a compartment on the side and, much as it disturbed him to think about what had happened to the children, he sat them on top of the food. The argument had seemed to end; the others had started to fan out, examining the vehicles and seemingly deciding which ones could be moved to make a path through.

Well, if that was what they wanted to do, then so be it. Digging through a duffle bag in the back of a pickup, he found a packet of dehydrated beef jerky (which he quickly devoured) and a switchblade that looked brand new. Flicking the blade out and testing the feel of it, he shoved it in the pocket of his jeans. He already had a pretty decent hunting knife but Glenn needed something, a weapon of last resort.

For a second, Daryl couldn't help but scoff at himself. Good God, now he was picking out gifts for the kid; practical gifts, but gifts nonetheless. Oddly enough however, much as he tried to pretend that he was bothered by the notion, he wasn't. Not at all.

"Quick!" The word was hurried and quiet, so quiet Daryl thought he might have imagined it but when he turned around, he could see Rick darting forward between the cars, his normally pale face white and clammy, eyes huge with fear. "Under the cars!"

Then Daryl heard it, growing in volume until it rang in his ears like the after effects of a concert. Behind him, coming closer and closer with each second, was the sickening sound of dozens of sets of bare feet scraping over asphalt. A higher pitched noise occasionally broke through and Daryl realized that he was hearing exposed bone scraping over metal. It sent chills up his spine and made his heart start beating double time.

They were coming.

Immediately, he dropped to the ground and slid under the pickup he'd been searching, his crossbow scraping up against the undercarriage. Looking over his shoulder, he couldn't see the walkers yet but the sound was getting louder and louder, approaching like high tide. If he glanced to his right, he could see Lori and Carol a few cars over. Lori had clamped her hand over Carol's mouth and Daryl had the urge to applaud her actions; Rick's wife was definitely smart, even if she didn't always show it.

When he turned his head forward again, Daryl saw something that made his skin crawl. T-Dog was crouched beside a car just a few feet away but his arm was streaming blood. He had no idea where the man had gotten the cut but he knew that it was only a matter of time before the first walkers approached and if they smelled fresh meat, they were all fucked.

Daryl wasn't going to let that happen. The first of the pack, who was a good forty feet in front of the others, limped by and Daryl slid out, fingers closing around the switchblade in his pocket. He was in his natural domain now; he was a hunter, after his prey. He had no second thoughts. He knew what to do.

"Sorry kid," he murmured, flicking out the blade, "I'll get you another present." In one swift movement, he rammed the blade into the back of the walker's neck, stabbing up into its rotted brain. The corpse dropped to the ground and he quickly dragged it over to T-Dog, who looked like he was ready to faint.

"Tuck your arm under yourself," he said as quickly as he could, glancing backwards. There was no time to spare. As soon as T-Dog rolled onto his stomach, his wounded arm buried underneath him, Daryl dropped the body on him, draping it over the larger man. Before the body had even landed, he had rolled under the nearest vehicle, fingernails digging into the asphalt. He felt sorry for the other man; no doubt that the walker was probably the worst smelling thing in existence but it was also the only thing that was going to save their lives.

The next five minutes were probably the longest of Daryl's life. The herd of walkers seemed to go on forever; the feet never stopped coming. With every second that ticked by, Daryl waited for one of the walking corpses to get a whiff of the fresh blood and start tearing T-Dog apart. But their fallen comrade seemed to be covering up the scent. Although a few pairs of feet slowed down, they always kept going. When the last pair walked by and the sound of scraping faded away, Daryl found himself letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding in. Although he'd been doing his best to keep his heart at bay, his entire body was trembling from barely contained terror. He wasn't ashamed to admit that he had never been more scared in his life and as he crawled out from underneath the vehicle, shoving the corpse off of T-Dog, his legs barely held him up.

They'd made it. They'd cheated death, again. From what he could see and hear, they were all accounted for. They had walked into hell and managed to walk out again. It was almost enough to make him drop down to his knees and thank the God he no longer believed in.

Then he heard the screams.

"Sophia!"

Oh, fuck.


	16. Chapter 16

"You positive this is where you left her?"

"Absolutely. I told her that I'd come back for her as soon as I could."

"You mean you left my baby here, all alone?"

Daryl was really thankful that he possessed self-control of some kind. He felt sorry for Carol, he really did; no one deserved to lose their entire family in such a short span of time, even if their husband was an abusive asshole who was better off being dead anyways. But she was nagging Rick constantly, had been badgering him the entire way down to the creek. It was like she couldn't see the forest for the trees; sure, Rick _had_ left Sophia alone for a few moments but he was the only one who had jumped over the guardrail and gone after her. He wasn't getting enough credit.

But that wasn't important. What was important was that Daryl could see footprints in the muddy bottom of the creek, leading to the bank. They were definitely Sophia's and he set about following them, blocking out anything the others were saying. He was in his element; this was what his Pa had raised him to do, what he'd been doing all his life.

"She veered off this way," he said, not particularly caring if anyone besides Rick heard him. "Maybe she got confused 'bout her directions, forgot left from right or something."

"She _knew_ her left from her right," Carol put in and Daryl had to bite his tongue again. 'Course Sophia knew her directions when she wasn't terrified but fear did a number on your memory. You didn't stop to think, you just ran, as far and as fast as you could. He didn't understand why that was such a hard concept for the others to grasp.

When Rick convinced the others to head back to the highway, he couldn't help but feel relieved. Without so many bodies around, he was able to focus better and there was less chance that the footprints would get destroyed. Rick stayed and truthfully, he didn't mind. The deputy was good at listening and reading cues; he certainly wasn't a master tracker but he was intelligent and determined to find Sophia. That was the important bit.

"Right up to this point, she was doing okay," he said, crouching down and examining the small tracks. Although she was further along than she should have, Sophia would have reached the highway eventually if she'd kept going the same way. But abruptly, her tracks had gone right, in the complete opposite direction of the road.

"Maybe something spooked her," Rick said, rubbing his face. "A walker, or a deer maybe."

"Maybe, but I don't see no other tracks." He stood back up and kept following the trail. He could tell from the imprints that Sophia had been running and in one spot, there was a faint handprint. She'd fallen but she'd kept going, although she'd slowed down a little.

"This doesn't make any sense," Rick muttered and Daryl had to agree with him. There was no visible reason why Sophia had ran the wrong way and the tracks were starting to get fainter and fainter. It wasn't like tracking an animal; their decisions were easy to predict, they followed patterns and routines. But humans were irrational, especially kids.

A loud crack interrupted Daryl's thought process and he immediately dropped to a crouch, crossbow at the ready. There was somebody walking in the bush, not too far away, but the footfalls were too heavy to belong to Sophia. It had to be a walker.

Hoping to God that Rick would understand him, he signed out a plan with his fingers. Thankfully, Rick nodded and did exactly what he was told, creeping left towards where the walker was moving while Daryl went right, so he could pop up behind it. He was an ugly bastard (then again, weren't they all), dressed in the remnants of a plaid shirt and jeans, long black hair streaked with blood and other things Daryl didn't want to think about.

Rick whistled and as soon as the walker turned its head, Daryl shot it through the back of the skull. Black, viscous blood sprayed the leaves and the body dropped like a stone, letting out one final groan. Sliding down the hill towards the body, Daryl realized for a brief moment the implications of a walker being so close to Sophia's trail. There was a chance that the creature at his feet had… well, killed her and if that was the case, they'd have to break that news to Carol.

He really, really hoped that Rick would do that, if it came down to it.

"There's something in its mouth." Rick had pried the jaws open with his knife and was picking at something in its back teeth. When he finally managed to pull it out, Daryl felt his stomach twist just the slightest. There was a clump of light colored flesh on the end of Rick's knife and although it was too gnawed on to identify, it certainly wasn't a good sign.

He had a _really_ bad feeling about this.

"It fed recently," Rick said, flicking the flesh off to the side, "but can't tell what on." He sighed heavily and grabbed the handle of his knife with both hands, raising it to chin height. His face briefly twisted in a grimace of disgust and Daryl almost laughed out loud. He appreciated the former deputy for attempting to take one for the team, but the last thing he needed was Rick throwing up all over the walker.

"Lemme do it. My knife's sharper." That was only part of the truth but Rick seemed grateful and backed away, giving Daryl plenty of room. Adjusting his fingers around the grip, Daryl took a step back, preparing himself. He'd never gutted a human (or thing that used to be a human) before but he figured that it couldn't be all that different from a deer.

"Here goes nothing,'" he muttered, throwing all of his weight into his swing. The knife slammed into the walker's body, cracking loudly as it pierced the breastbone. The only way to go from there was down so he started sawing, twisting his knife exactly like his Pa had taught him, so many years ago.

Some people never forgot how to ride a bike. He never forgot how to gut a kill.

Once he got to the abdomen, he pulled on a pair of gloves from his back pocket and started sorting through the organs, tossing away the intestines and liver and pancreas. Rick was looking more and more squeamish as the seconds ticked by and Daryl was really glad that he'd chosen to step up to the plate. When he reached the stomach, he dropped it onto the ground beside the disemboweled corpse and cut it open, momentarily choking on the thick smell of bile. As soon as the liquid had spilled out, he could identify what the fucker had been munching on.

"Gross bastard had himself a woodchuck for dinner," he said, kicking the stomach away with his foot. He wasn't entirely sure how to feel about finding only a woodchuck in the gutbag. On one hand, there was relief, of course; finding a gnawed on finger in the freak's stomach wasn't a possibility he had been looking forward to. But at the same time, the situation still wasn't resolved and that made his stomach move into his throat.

It was a cruel fucking world they were living in, that was for sure.

As much as he wanted to keep following the trail, it was getting too damn dark and there was no point in him and Rick getting lost in the woods too. But heading back felt like… well, it felt like defeat, if he was being honest. If it had been just him, he probably would have risked it, would have gone through the darkness in search of the little girl who was undoubtedly terrified.

But there was Glenn. Truth be told, he hadn't really thought about the kid all day. He'd been too busy to risk it so he'd compartmentalized his mind, had closed that section off for the hours he'd spent searching for Sophia. Now that the search was over (for the time being), he could allow those thoughts to return to his mind.

There was a little bit of a fiasco when they returned to camp, but it wasn't anything worse than he'd expected. Carol had been upset because they were returning without any information on Sophia's location but once Rick explained the situation, she'd fallen silent, apart from the tears that were continuing to fall. All they could do was wait until the morning before they ventured out again.

He chose to sleep in the back of an SUV that wasn't too crammed with stuff and, thankfully, didn't have dead bodies in it. Once the stow and go seating was all fixed, there was more than enough room for him to stretch out and, if he turned on his side, there was enough room for the kid to slide in whenever he was done with watch.

He tried to sleep. He really did. But every time he shut his eyes, he started having a nightmare, one he'd been having since he was a kid. In it, he was little and lost in the woods at night because Merle had left him behind. He could hear wolves howling nearby and they were getting closer with every second.

By the time Glenn slid into the back seat and he took off for his own watch shift, he hadn't slept a wink. Thankfully, he was used to working through exhaustion but he was grateful that nothing exciting was happening. From his position on top of the RV, he could hear Carol sobbing and after awhile, it just became background noise.

He had a feeling he wasn't the only one who hadn't gotten any sleep.

By the time Shane came to replace him, he was finding it hard to keep his head up, no matter how much he willed it to. Walking back to the car, he actually tripped over a wayward can of soup (or something) and he couldn't help but groan. If he didn't get any sleep, he was going to be absolutely useless in the morning and seeing as he was the only one who knew how to track, that was going to be a real problem.

The kid was fast asleep, practically buried in the blankets when Daryl climbed into the back seat. He stirred briefly, only long enough to roll onto his opposite side and throw one arm over Daryl's chest. Daryl was too exhausted to attempt to move it or to put more than a cursory effort into wondering if sleeping together in such an exposed place was a good idea. His eyes closed of their own volition and when they opened again, the sun was coming over the horizon. Glenn was still passed out beside him and he decided to let him sleep; they needed every bit of it that they could grab, after all.

Dale was on watch on top of the RV, staring off into the distance, lost in thought. He seemed content to do that so Daryl decided finding breakfast was the most important thing. With the number of cans sitting around, he was sure no one would notice if one suddenly vanished.

He'd never had canned ravioli for breakfast. Seemed like as good a time as any to try it.

By the time he finished the can and tossed it, most of the others were stirring, spilling out of the RV and some of the other vehicles, and not a moment too soon. Daryl was starting to get restless. If they were going to find Sophia, they had to start moving immediately. The sun didn't stay up forever; the sooner they left, the more daylight they'd have to find her in.

Admittedly, he hadn't been expecting the entire group to come with them. He'd figured it would have been him, Rick, Shane and maybe Glenn, working in teams to comb the environment while everyone else stayed back. With everyone except Dale and T-Dog following along behind, they were at the risk of making more noise or confusing the tracks.

But whatever. So long as he could be in front, read the signs and prints before anyone else stepped in them, he'd deal with it.

In the end, there weren't any tracks (other than those belonging to a deer) to mess up. There was no physical sign that Sophia had come this way but that didn't mean anything. They had to explore every option, every direction, just in case. Somewhere in the forest, there was a terrified little girl who just wanted to get back to her mother and he was going to do everything in his power to find her.

***

They'd been sweating under the sun for at least an hour when they came across the tent. It was the first promising clue they'd had all day and Daryl would have been lying if he said that he didn't feel a little hopeful. It was the perfect place for Sophia to hide; it was in the shade and definitely large enough. But there were still signs that someone else had been there; there were camping supplies strewn everywhere and a few cans of food littered the ground near the tent flap.

On second glance, things were starting to look mighty suspicious. Some of the supplies were partially covered with leaves, like they hadn't been disturbed in a very long time. But still. It was the only viable option they'd found so far.

"Carol, call her," Rick said, his voice low. "If she's in there, yours should be the first voice she hears." Daryl certainly couldn't find fault in that statement. When Carol stepped forward, it was plain to see that she was jittering from head to toe, like she was on an especially potent drug.

He supposed that grief could count as a drug, if you thought about it hard enough.

"Sophia?" Carol's voice was barely audible, like she was swallowing past a stone in her throat. "Baby? It's Mama. Sophia?" There was no movement from within the tent and, prompted by a nod from Rick, Daryl stepped up to the flap, his knife at the ready. There wasn't so much as a rustle from inside and his stomach started to drop. This wasn't looking good.

And then he opened the flap and suddenly, things were looking really, really not good. For starters, Sophia wasn't inside. For a brief second, Daryl had entertained the fact that she was just sleeping, that she hadn't heard them. But then the smell hit his nostrils like a sledgehammer, nearly making him puke. He was familiar with the smell of decay but this went completely beyond anything. There was a body sitting in a fold-up chair in the middle of the tent, the back of his skull hanging off, his brain long curdled by the heat. A revolver lay on his chest and the situation was all too clear. Weeks or maybe even a month ago, this man had taken the easy way out, chosen to have his corpse cooked by the Georgia sun instead of reanimated.

Least he knew enough to shoot himself in the head. That was smart.

"Nothing," he sighed when he stumbled out of the tent, the vile sweet smell of rot still clinging to his sinuses. "Just some guy who opted out." The distraught look on Carol's face was enough to make him turn away and immediately forge onward. He didn't think that any mother should ever have that look on their face, that look of total despair and pain. Mothers weren't supposed to bury their babies. Weren't right.

The bells jolted him out of his thoughts. It'd been so long since he'd heard the damn things that at first, the sound was almost completely unrecognizable, foreign in his ears. Then memories came back, recollections of the scattered Sundays his Ma had dragged him out of the house in his best clothes and he took off running through the bush, not bothering to see if the others were following behind.

After a few minutes, he ended up in a small clearing, with a church sat in the middle of it. It looked like any country thing, really; tiny, with a few crumbling gravestones beside it, nothing too special. Nonetheless, he didn't think he'd ever been so excited to see a damn church before and he only stopped running when he reached the steps. Seconds after, the bells stopped and the group finally arrived, Shane and Rick bringing up the front.

"You think she's in there?" Rick asked, gaze frantically darting about. Daryl shrugged; there was only one sure way to tell and he pushed the door open slowly, the old thing creaking with every inch it moved.

The sight inside was enough to put a goddamn chill up his spine. Even at the end of the world, the church was still providing solace. There were three walkers sitting in the pews, all of them turned towards the front, looking like real people. But it was the smell that gave them away; the thick, humid air carried the stink of death too distinctly. Rick pulled out his revolver but Lori passed him a machete instead, one of the pieces that had come from a kit Carl had found in a car the day before. Daryl settled his crossbow onto his shoulder and was just setting up one of the walkers in his sights when he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. Glenn was handing him one of the other pieces, a strange knife with a hooked blade.

"Save your arrows," he murmured, taking Daryl's crossbow and slinging it over his back as carefully as he would his own. Daryl made a mental note to tell the kid just how damn useful he was, after they were done cleansing the church.

Now wasn't that a weird concept?

He took the lone walker sitting on the right side of the church, stepping quietly as possible. It was difficult to tell how old she'd been when she kicked the bucket; her face was far too rotted, hidden underneath a moldy veil that seemed more dust than lace. She only looked over when Daryl beckoned her, using the same noises he'd always used on the old hound they'd had on the farm, before she keeled over and died of old age. Just like the dog, the walker turned her head, bones creaking as she rose from the pew. When she opened her mouth to groan, her teeth were covered in black gunk, some kind of mixture of decay and blood and probably flesh.

His first swing caught her across the face, ripping her nose in half and causing two of those disgusting teeth to fall out of her gaping mouth. The second swing landed squarely on her temple, caving in the left side of her skull. The third time was the charm, spewing rotten brains all over the pews, making them glisten.

"Amen," he muttered, pushing the corpse out of the aisle with his foot. Now that the obstacles had been taken care of, he remembered the overlying task at hand and he spun around, looking for anywhere a little girl could hide.

"Sophia!" There were two doors, one on either side of the altar and he was about to check them out when the bells started ringing again. The sound was nearly deafening inside the church and he quickly ran outside, ears ringing with the damn noise.

"They're on a timer." Glenn was around the side of the building, ripping a wire out of a circuit box. "A damn timer."

"So she was never here?" The look on Carol's face was surprisingly calm, like she was already getting used to the situation. That didn't sit right with Daryl; what the fuck kind of world was it where parents got used to losing their babies?

"I'm sorry, Carol." Rick took over the situation and Daryl took the opportunity to slide around back of the church, where everything was silent and there was only the forest to look at. He needed a minute; not a minute to pray, but just a few moments where he could sit down and stop thinking. Within seconds of sitting down and leaning against the wall, Glenn came around the corner, crossbow still slung around his back. He looked tired, even though Daryl knew for a fact he'd slept.

Permanent exhaustion. Hell of a way to live.

"Hey," he said, taking the crossbow off before sitting down beside Daryl, their knees bumping together. "Thought you might want that back."

"Oh, you're not here for my company?" The remark brought a smile to Glenn's face and Daryl could feel himself mirroring the action. God, it felt nice to smile, even if it was only for a matter of seconds.

"Okay, so there's that too." The kid's head fell onto his shoulder and Daryl leaned into it, his cheek planted on Glenn's baseball hat. For a few moments, things were exactly as they should have been. It was just the two of them, with only the birds of the forest as witnesses, sitting silently in the shade. After a few seconds, Glenn's hand wrapped around his own, thin fingers fitting into the gaps between Daryl's. Even though he knew his hands were covered in dirt and blood, he didn't try to end the contact. Why the hell would he do a dumb thing like that?

Between the defilement of one of his houses and now the holding hands thing though, Daryl figured that God was probably having a fucking field day.

"You think we're gonna find her?" Glenn asked quietly after a few minutes.

"'Course we are," Daryl immediately answered, a little more rough than he'd intended. "She's gotta be around here somewhere. She's a smart girl. We're gonna find her."

"I believe you."

Daryl was pretty damn sure those were the sweetest words he'd ever heard.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a warning per se but just a heads-up that the events of the episode this chapter is meant to take place during have been changed and, in one case, removed. xx.

Honestly, he was surprised that they managed to make it so far before Lori snapped. Ever since they had left the church, splitting into two groups, the tension between her and the other two women had been thick enough to taste in the goddamn air. He was pretty sure that, underneath the crackling of leaves and twigs, he could hear Andrea glaring daggers into Lori's back. He knew that he wasn't making shit up; Glenn kept glancing at him, clearly wondering, ' _what the hell do we do with them_?'

He just kept shrugging. All he cared about was finding Sophia; their personal problems were none of his concern.

But still, he was pretty goddamn happy when Lori finally spoke up.

"Do you want it?" When he turned around, Lori was holding out Rick's extra pistol, cold eyes just challenging Andrea to say something. "'Cause I'm sick and tired of you glaring at me when you think I'm not looking."

Daryl wasn't really sure how to react to the situation. Although Lori obviously didn't care if he was listening, he still felt like some kind of peeping Tom, sorting through other people's dirty laundry. The best he could do was to try and ignore it by staring at a tree in the distance like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Glenn seemed just as uncomfortable but, judging from the way the back of his neck was burning, Daryl figured that the kid had chosen to stare at him.

Cheeky fucker was lucky the others were still around, or Daryl would have had him up against the nearest tree.

The standoff seemed to be over. Andrea had retreated and rightfully so, he believed. It wasn't fair for her to be mad at Lori; Rick had every right to give her his gun. It was his goddamn weapon to do what he pleased with and if he wanted to keep his wife safe, then that just made him a better man.

"And Carol, you need to stop blaming Rick." Now Andrea was the one who was pretending to not pay attention, based on her spaced out reaction. "We're all hoping and praying that we find Sophia and he is doing everything he can, so it isn't fair to blame him."

"What's this hoping and praying shit?" It came out a little harsher than he intended but Daryl couldn't help himself. He knew it was meant to be a positive statement but it also contained doubt and that just wasn't right.

"Look, we've still got plenty of daylight and plenty of ground to cover. We're gonna find that little girl, I promise. C'mon, let's keep moving." He didn't bother waiting for a reaction from anyone; he simply spun on his heel and kept walking, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground for any sign of Sophia. His gut was a little worried, since there had been absolutely no sign of her but there was no point in prematurely giving up. He wasn't raised to be a quitter.

The gunshot came about an hour or so later, by his judgment. It didn't sound like a pistol, more like a rifle or maybe Shane's shotgun, but it was impossible to pinpoint the direction the shot had come from.

"Shouldn't we go see what that was?" Carol asked. "Maybe they found Sophia."

"Maybe they have and maybe they haven't, but there ain't no way for us to tell. Sound like that bounces off the trees, makes it impossible to pinpoint it." The answer apparently wasn't satisfactory enough, judging by the look on Carol's face and he groaned. He was trying his absolute hardest not to snap but he couldn't help it.

"Look, there's no damn point in us worrying about it, we gotta keep pressing forward. Jesus, am I the only one zen around here?" He felt like someone leaving a party in a huff and the mental image was almost enough to make him burst into laughter.

"You know the word zen?" The kid had caught up with him and even though he looked nervous, he was still smiling like a damn fool.

"'Course I do." The smile was damn contagious. Even though his eyes were still focused on the ground, searching for signs among the dirt and leaves, he knew that he was partly done for. It was getting harder and harder to hide his… well, the affection he felt towards Glenn. He just wanted to reach over and grab the kid's hand, even if it was just for a few seconds.

"I didn't peg you as someone who was into meditation," Glenn responded and judging by the look he shot at Daryl's empty hand, he was thinking the same kind of thoughts.

"Oh yeah, I was into all that shit." Daryl couldn't keep a straight face but based on the tiny chuckles coming out of Glenn's mouth, that wasn't a problem. "All that cross legged, chanting stuff. Works great before you cut up a critter."

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. The kid actually _guffawed_ , the sound echoing against the surrounding trees. He immediately slapped a hand over his mouth but it was too late to contain the sound. Daryl looked backwards over his shoulder, positive that the women would be glaring at Glenn but they all seemed fairly occupied, either with their thoughts or with surveying the surrounding forest.

Speaking of which. Much as he'd enjoyed the distraction, he had a job to devote himself too. The joking around could wait.

***

Jesus Christ, they just couldn't get a fucking break.

Truthfully, he knew that he probably should have been paying a little more attention to the group. But they were all adults; it wasn't like he was the supervisor on a fucking school trip. They should have known better than to wander off in the middle of the damn forest.

Apparently, common sense was still in short supply.

Andrea's scream was shrill enough to scare off every bird in a five mile radius and it was enough to make Daryl's survivor instincts immediately come into play. Without a second thought, he turned around and bolted towards where the sound had come from, crossbow at the ready. She wasn't that far off the path really but it had been far enough for her to be attacked by a walker. Bastard had already gotten her pinned to the ground and if he didn't hurry, he was gonna be having her throat as an afternoon snack.

By the time he realized that there was extra noise in the forest, the horse girl was already there. Weaving her way through the trees skillfully, she hit the walker square in the temple with an old baseball bat. The force of the blow knocked his head clear off and even though he had absolutely no idea who she was or where the fuck she'd come from, he was certainly impressed.

"Lori Grimes?" Apparently her finding them had been no fluke; Daryl had seen the look on her face before, the look of someone who was the bearer of bad news.

"That's me," Lori said, stepping forward. To anyone else, it might have looked like her hands were on her hips but Daryl could tell that she was inching her way towards the gun tucked into the back of her jeans, just in case.

Okay, so maybe there was a little common sense left to go around.

"Rick sent me, you need to come right now, Carl's been shot!"

Wait, _what_? Lori was already heading towards Horse Girl, apparently without a second thought, but Daryl wasn't quite sure how to react. On one hand, Carl being shot would have explained the gunshot they'd heard earlier, but for all they knew, the entire situation could have been a ruse. He wouldn't have been surprised; Horse Girl looked innocent enough but the prettiest faces were always the deadliest and at the end of the world, they were all capable of anything.

"Hold up Lori, you can't just go with her!" he started but it was obvious that his words weren't going to do anything. Lori was already up on the horse and the girl was already wheeling her way around, heading back the way she had come.

"Rick said y'all are up on the highway. Head back towards Atlanta, turn onto County Road 38, we're 'bout half a mile down. Name on the mailbox is Greene." With that, she was off, making her way through the trees with the ease of an experienced rider, leaving them alone with a decapitated walker whose head was attempting to crawl back toward Andrea.

"Shut up," he muttered, putting his boot through its rotting skull. It was obvious that the search was over for the day; if Carl had been shot, they all needed to be there, as soon as possible.

Jesus. Both little ones. Wasn't fucking fair.

By the time they made it back to the highway, the sun was on its way down. Their walk had been in silence. Carol had obviously been struggling to hold back tears, Andrea seemed pretty shaken up from her second near-death experience in two days and Glenn seemed to have retreated into his mind. Daryl didn't blame him for that; the last two days had been absolute fucking hell. It was a lot to process all at once. Dealing with Sophia disappearing had been hard enough for them, but if Carl died, then there really wasn't any hope left at all.

But he was getting ahead of himself. The girl hadn't said anything about what condition Carl was in, although it must have been pretty severe if she'd come galloping in like a rider of the apocalypse to fetch Lori. But the boy obviously wasn't dead, and Daryl was going to cling to that as long as he goddamn had to.

As if things couldn't get any worse, there was T-Dog's arm. Daryl had suspected that the thing was going to get infected; even right after he'd cut it open, it was a nasty looking wound. Even from a distance, it was obvious that he had a rather severe case of blood poisoning, one that definitely would have landed him in the hospital any other time.

But since there were no more hospitals, he had to thank Merle for keeping a well stocked pharmacy in the saddlebag of his motorcycle.

"What do we have in here… meth, won't be needing that… I think that's coke…here it is." He knew there was something a little less illicit buried at the bottom and he tossed the bottle at Dale.

"Doxycycline," he offered as an explanation. "Generic stuff but still, pretty damn strong."

"Thanks Daryl." T-Dog offered a nod as acknowledgement; his face had gone a sickly ash gray color and there was far too much sweat pouring off his face to be from the heat alone.

"Don't thank me, thank Merle for getting the clap." The look on Glenn's face was absolutely priceless; he was definitely trying to hold back laughter, while blushing at the same time. It suited him well and Daryl made a mental note to tell him the story of how Merle had ended up with the disease.

But that was for another day, because Dale had apparently nominated Glenn to drive T-Dog to the Greene's house. Truth be told, he was a little annoyed by that, but that was just his selfishness showing. The kid was really the only one of them who was in any shape to drive, with the exception of Dale, and Daryl was pretty sure he couldn't drive anything but the damn RV.

One night without the kid. He could do that. He wasn't _that_ attached.

***

He really needed to stop lying to himself.

Dale had taken first watch and for two hours, Daryl had been lying on the floor of the RV, staring at the ceiling, totally exhausted and completely unable to sleep. It wasn't just one factor that made his eyes stay open; there were multiple ones, all ganging up on him until he just gave up on the sleeping thing. For one, although he'd slept in worst places, the floor was pretty damn hard. Secondly, even though it had only been a few days, he'd gotten so used to the kid breathing beside him that the loss of his presence was actually rather disconcerting.

Thirdly, he'd never really been able to deal with the sound of crying. As a kid, he'd barely ever heard it (Dixons didn't cry) so he'd never become accustomed to the noise and Carol had been sobbing for at least an hour and a half. She was obviously trying to muffle it in the pillow but that only made it worse.

There wasn't any point in him just laying there, being useless. He figured that some fresh air might help him calm down a bit and at the same time, he could do some searching for Sophia. Nobody was going to sleep properly until that little girl was found. Was the least he could do.

"Want some company?" Andrea had been curled up in the passenger seat but apparently, she hadn't been sleeping either, judging by the weariness in her eyes. She'd been through way too much in the last week.

"Sure," he shrugged, shouldering his crossbow and stepping out into the night. The temperature had dropped quite a bit, thankfully; having to deal with the humidity at night would have just added to his list of reasons of why he couldn't sleep.

"Gonna head up the highway a bit," he said to Dale, keeping his voice as low as possible. "Maybe she just got confused 'bout where she was." In the light of the moon, Daryl could see the concern on Dale's face but, thankfully, the old man decided to shrug it off. The last thing he wanted to do was get involved in something between Andrea and Dale, especially when when they were all so tired. It just wouldn't be a good scene.

"If you need anything, just holler," he said, sighing loudly as he settled back down into the battered lawn chair. Daryl was certain that he was going to do no such thing but it was still nice to know that Dale would be on duty if something bad happened.

While the nocturnal critters still seemed active, the night seemed quieter than usual, like even the animals knew that things had gotten even more shitty. He never thought he'd experience the day where the goddamn squirrels would be having a moment of near-silence for humans, but he supposed anything was possible.

"Can I ask you something?" They'd wandered off the highway into the fringes of the forest, searching an area they hadn't combed yet. Andrea had seemed lost in thought and when she finally spoke, Daryl actually thought that he was hearing shit for a moment.

"Have at 'er."

"Do you actually think she's still alive?" Daryl forced himself to bite back his initial urge to snap at her; Andrea had been through enough without him being a total asshole to her. He took a few moments before responding, hoping that the anger was completely out of his voice.

"'Course I do. No doubt about it. I was younger than her when I first got lost and I was gone nine days." Just mentioning the incident was enough to hit him with bitter nostalgia and he forced himself to swallow it down.

"Nine days?"

"Yep. Pa was on a bender, Merle was in juvie, Ma assumed I was with Pa. Wandered around eating berries and wiping my ass with poison oak. Wasn't any worse for wear when they found me, except my goddamn ass was itchy." Andrea actually giggled and Daryl couldn't help but chuckle a little bit himself. In hindsight, it was kind of a funny situation and if it made her a little happier for a few moments, he'd let her laugh at his pain.

He wasn't sure where the urge came from. Out of nowhere, he felt like he needed to tell someone about Glenn, needed to spill the damn secret before his head exploded. Sure, Rick knew but that wasn't the same; him finding out had been out of Daryl's hands. He needed to _say_ it to someone, someone who he could actually talk to and who would, maybe, understand. Andrea seemed trustworthy enough and he didn't think she would react too negatively. After all, he'd heard someone say that she'd been a human rights lawyer before everything went to shit. You had to have an open mind to do that kind of job, right?

Well, it was either her or Dale, and he really wasn't in the mood for a patronizing speech.

"Can I tell you something?" He stopped walking and turned to face her, eyes focused on a tree somewhere behind her head.

"Sure." He couldn't read the look on her face, which was almost enough to make himself bite it back, but he pressed on, swallowing three times to put some moisture back into his throat. No point in pussying out once he'd initiated the conversation.

"Glenn. Me and Glenn. We're… we're something." As confessions went, it certainly wasn't the most eloquent and he wasn't even sure if it made sense, but he really didn't care. Just saying the words out loud took a massive weight off of his back, a weight he hadn't even realized was there. Even if she turned and decided to flip on him (and he really hoped that didn't happen, because then he knew he wasn't going to hold back), that weight was gone and Jesus, it felt good.

"You're _something_?"

"Yeah, something. Didn't figure that it needed a label or anything." Andrea nodded silently and for a few very long seconds, Daryl felt his stomach drop below his balls. He turned his gaze to the trees, trying to get his attention away from his trembling hands.

"That's good." Her voice was so soft that for a few moments, Daryl thought he had just heard the wind blowing through the trees. But when she repeated the words, turning her weary smile in his direction, he let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding in.

"It's good that you're happy," she said, adjusting her backpack on her shoulder. Daryl snorted and turned back towards the highway, trying very hard to hide the insistent smile upon his face.

"Don't know if I'd say happy, but it helps a little," he said. After a few steps, it became clear that Andrea was lagging behind and he turned back around, fingers digging into the strap of his crossbow.

"Are you okay?" It was a question no one else dared ask but he'd never been one to back away from being blunt. The others seemed to have a tendency to baby Andrea but it was obvious that wasn't what she wanted. She didn't want to be treated like a ticking time bomb and that was something Daryl could truly relate to.

"I'm not sure yet," she said slowly, each word careful and deliberate. "I'm not happy, but… I guess I'm coping. It's not as bad as I thought it would be."

"Wish I could say it's gonna get better," he sighed, "but there ain't any point in lying to you." She nodded again and Daryl set off back towards the highway, feeling his eyes get heavier with each step. Even though none of the problems that had been keeping him from sleeping had been fixed, he had a feeling they wouldn't be an issue when he got back.

It was only when they stepped back onto the highway, caught in the beam from Dale's flashlight, that Andrea spoke again.

"Thanks, Daryl," she said, giving a small wave so that Dale would put the light down.

"For what?"

"For not lying to me."

He'd always been good at telling others the truth but, when he laid back down on the floor of the RV with the intention of getting an hour of sleeping before relieving Dale, he realized once again that he really needed to start telling himself the truth.

Quite frankly, he missed the damn kid. There wasn't any amount of lying that was going to mask that fact and, he hoped that soon, he'd be able to sleep with Glenn beside him every night, be able to fall asleep to him breathing against his neck and holding onto his arm.

But in the meantime, he needed sleep. That held precedence above all.


	18. Chapter 18

As soon as the sun popped up over the horizon, Daryl started to get antsy. He'd been on watch for at least four hours and even though he, theoretically, should have been exhausted, he was full of nervous energy, like he'd been cooped up for hours on end. He didn't want to stick around the highway any longer. The place was too open, too exposed and at any moment, another herd of walkers could plow on through. They needed to get going, to this farm he'd heard so much about already. He didn't want to admit to himself that the reason he was so antsy was because of Glenn but there was no point in lying. It wasn't that he didn't trust Rick and the others to protect him, but what if the kid had run into the herd of walkers while he was driving T-Dog to the farm? Hell, what if the thing really had been a gigantic fucking trap set by some sadistic survivors?

He needed to snap out of it, before his paranoia manifested itself physically. He clambered off of the RV's roof, trying to ignore the ominous creaking coming from the damn thing, and headed towards his motorcycle. Carol was standing by one of the abandoned cars, the hood of which was covered in miscellaneous supplies. She was staring off into the forest, her shoulders sagging, eyes still red from the hours of crying. Even when he had been on the roof for watch, Daryl had been able to hear her weeping and truth be told, the sound had nearly made him sick to his stomach. He'd never heard anything so desperate in his life.

"Carol?" The old man poked his head out of the RV, rifle tilted over his shoulder. "We better get a move on." For a few moments, Daryl thought that Carol wasn't going to come with them, that she was going to sit by the car all day. Instead, after a few seconds of near silence, she nodded and silently headed towards the RV, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. As soon as she'd shut the door behind her, Daryl started the chopper up and wheeled himself around, recalling Horse Girl's instructions in his mind. Once the RV had turned itself around, he floored it, trying his best to ignore the dirt hitting him in the face. So far as he was concerned, they couldn't get to the damn farm fast enough.

***

What. The. Fuck.

As soon as they'd pulled into the driveway of the Greene's farmhouse (nice enough place, with a big barn and lots of land around it), Glenn had dashed over from the patio, already looking stressed about something. By the time he reached Daryl, the words were already tumbling out of his mouth, getting all jumbled together but Daryl still understood the jist of them.

"…and Shane managed to get the stuff for Carl so he's okay and all, which is great, but Otis is dead, he got dragged off by the geeks and-"

"Glenn, slow down," Dale said, walking over from the RV. "Who's Otis? And what happened?" Taking a deep breath, the kid repeated everything at half speed, adding in a few new tidbits that made the whole scenario make a lot more fucking sense. From what Daryl understood, Shane and Otis, the Greene's farmhand, had gone off to a emergency medical outpost at some school to pick up some supplies for Carl. They'd been overrun and Otis had been killed and in a few hours, they were going to have a token funeral for him in the backyard.

Jesus Christ. He didn't think it was possible for the world to get any worse but then again, he really didn't want to jinx it.

Most of the others were still inside; Rick, Shane and Lori were apparently beside Carl's bed, watching the kid like a hawk at all times. T-Dog was sleeping in his tent, knocked out like a light and the Greene family was out in the field, setting up things for the funeral. While the others circulated around, visiting Carl and checking out their new surroundings, Daryl decided to get his tent all set up while no one could bother him. There was a small glade of trees beside the front driveway where the others had started up a little camp so he moved to the edge of that, tent over his shoulder.

Then he noticed Glenn's tent, off to one side, and changed his mind. Working quickly, he set his tent up right beside the kid's, so close that they were nearly touching. He knew that it was a… bold move, for lack of a better term but frankly, he didn't care. Telling Andrea about whatever the two of them had had changed his outlook slightly. In such close quarters, it was only a matter of time before the others found out and while he certainly wasn't going to start kissing the kid in front of the crowd till he was good and ready (or possibly never, he didn't really know), it meant that he was going to set his tent up where he damn well felt like it.

And if that meant he wanted to set it up beside Glenn's, well. Who the fuck was gonna stop him?

The funeral started in the early afternoon, when the sun was beginning to go down and the shadows were lengthening. Instead of a proper grave, the family had made a pyramid of stones, with a crooked wooden cross stuck into the ground behind it. It was a nice effort, Daryl had to give them that. Nonetheless, he felt horribly awkward, standing just outside the semi-circle the others had made. He'd always hated funerals, even for those in his family. His Pa's had been a fucking gongshow and his Ma's had been even worse.

But here… he didn't really know why'd he'd even come. Respect, he supposed. But still, he didn't know a thing about this Otis guy, other than his name and that he'd apparently sacrificed himself to save a child's life.

Along that line… there was something strange about Shane's story, something that Daryl couldn't quite place. The whole notion of self-sacrifice was nice in all the movies but it hardly ever transferred into reality. Sure, Otis did sound like a pretty stand-up guy, all accounts considered, but to so willingly throw himself to certain devourment, even if it was saving a child's life…

Maybe it was because he was a pessimist by nature, but Daryl didn't buy it. People that unselfish didn't exist in their new world; hell, they'd barely existed in the old world, if he was being truthful. There was something missing to the story, some part that Shane was leaving out or converting to a half-truth. Whatever it was, he had a feeling it was something that no one would want to hear.

He stopped thinking about Shane for a moment and turned his attention to Glenn. Even though his back was to him, it was obvious that the kid was really shaken up by the whole ordeal. His shoulders were all tensed up and even with his hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans, he was obviously trembling. He wished that he could… comfort him, or something. Hold his hand, whatever. But there was a time and place for the rest of the group to find out and a funeral was not that time.

So instead, he remained at the back and watched Shane with a wary eye, noticing his reactions to the other's words about Otis. Even if the others couldn't (or wouldn't) see it, there was guilt in his eyes, clear as day. There was definitely something up.

Whatever it was, it could wait.

***

He'd been tempted to start searching for Sophia immediately after the funeral, but he knew that there was no point. The sun was going down fast and searching in the dark just wasn't a good idea. Much as he hated to think about that poor little girl spending another night in the woods, all alone, there was nothing he could do about it. He tried to put the thought out of his head.

The circle around the fire was strangely empty that night; Rick and Lori were still inside with Carl, Carol was inside the RV, Dale was on watch and T-Dog had gone back to sleep after eating dinner. While he didn't look one hundred percent better yet, he certainly didn't look like he was at death's door anymore.

Daryl never thought he'd say it, but thank God for Merle and his STD.

There wasn't any point in sitting around the flames, staring into the damn thing like he was looking for the cure for cancer or something. He headed inside his tent and stared at the ceiling, making a makeshift plan for the next day. He'd have to see if Hershel (or whatever his name was) had a map of the surrounding area. That'd make searching for Sophia a hell of a lot easier and it'd save them going in circles. Maybe if Rick was feeling up to it, he could organize the whole thing.

It had seemed like only a few moments, but apparently it had been at least an hour when Daryl heard the zipper of his tent being undone. Sitting up, he could tell that the fire had burned down to nothing but coals and, judging by the lack of noise coming from the land, everyone else had gone to sleep.

Except Glenn, apparently. He'd left his baseball cap behind in his own tent (and thank God for that) but he was still wearing his clothes from the day. For a moment, he sat in silence, worrying his lip into his mouth but then he was taking off his shirt, tossing it into the corner and falling into Daryl's pile of sleeping bags, legs getting all twisted up in the fabric. Daryl just laid back and let Glenn figure out where the hell he was going to lie; it was better than accidentally getting hit in the face with a wriggling limb.

"I like it here," he said once he had gotten himself situated, with his head on Daryl's chest and one arm slung across his waist. It was how he always laid but Daryl didn't mind. It was comfortable for both of them and if he was being really, really honest with himself, he… well. The affection was nice.

Not that he'd ever breathe a word of that to anyone else, but it was still true.

"Yeah. It's nice." The farm really was gorgeous; it was the kind of place he'd always figured he'd end up on once he was old. But beauty meant jack shit now. Even though the place was obviously stocked with supplies and was fairly isolated, that was no guarantee. The place could be just like the goddamn CDC all over again. The others may have been quick to trust but he wasn't.

"Daryl, don't be so tense." Glenn's hand tightened on his hip, fingernails pressing into his flesh briefly. "Relax, just for a bit. Just for now."

"Help me." He didn't know where the words came from but they were rusty from disuse, barely understandable. After a few seconds, Glenn sat up, obviously waiting for some kind of clarification on the matter. Before he could say the words again, Daryl swallowed hard, trying not to think about why it was so difficult to say the damn phrase.

"Help me. Relax, I mean." Glenn just stared at him for the longest time but just as Daryl opened his mouth to snap ( _never mind, forget I said anythin'_ ), Glenn nodded, gnawing on the corner of his lip again.

"Okay. I, uh… there's something that always used to help me. Roll onto your stomach." Daryl rolled over immediately but he still stuck his hand under his pillow, gripping the knife he kept there. It was stupid but it was a hard habit to break, even if he pretty well trusted Glenn one hundred percent.

Now that was a strange notion. Trust. He didn't think that he'd ever trusted anyone, at all. It wasn't like his family had been the most reliable bunch; between two drunken parents and Merle, there was no point in trusting them at all. As for anyone else… well, there hadn't really been anyone else, had there? Just a few one-night stands and short relationships, scattered over the years, none of them even remotely memorable.

God, it was weird.

While he'd been lost in his own head, Glenn had climbed on top of him, straddling his lower back. His hand momentarily tensed around the handle of the knife but then Glenn's thumbs were pressing into his shoulder blades and he was pretty well done for. It had been years and years since anyone had given him a massage and the tension being released from his back felt so goddamn good. He had no idea where the kid had learned his skills (come to think of it, maybe he didn't want to know) but they were certainly effective. In only ten minutes, he felt infinitely more relaxed, like the weight of the world had been taken off his back. Fingers pressing into his shoulders one last time, Glenn leaned down and rested his chin on his back, soft hair tickling the nape of his neck.

"Feel better?"

It was hard for him to roll over but he still managed to do it. As a bonus, Glenn somehow managed to stay on top of him but now, he was on top of his hips, looking down at him with a look of both confusion and intrigue.

"What the hell have you done to me?" Daryl muttered, unable to stop himself from cracking a smile. Glenn opened his mouth and he only groaned, sitting up and wrapping one hand around the back of his neck.

"Shut up Glenn."

From that point on, aside from countless muffled moans and gasps of names, there wasn't much speaking done at all.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I have updated twice in the last day so just make sure you're read the chapter before this before continuing. (:
> 
> Also, this is the last chapter I have pre-written for this story (and I only finished this yesterday). This means that updates are probably going to be a little slower, at least until I'm done the school year. However, I'll try to keep a pretty decent schedule and if you're ever curious about when an update is coming, you can contact me at winchester-cheekbones.tumblr.com. (:  
> xx.

Daryl jolted awake to the sound of something rustling outside his tent. His automatic response was to reach under his pillow, hunting knife at the ready, only barely noticing that Glenn was still asleep beside him, sprawled across the blankets like a baby deer. Fingers wrapped around the handle, he slowly undid the zipper of his tent and stuck his head out, glancing back and forth, nose on the guard for the rotting scent of a walker.

"Daryl, it's just me." Rick was standing above him, outline barely visible against the still dark sky. "It's gonna be light in an hour or two. You mind taking watch?"

"Sure. Gimme a minute." Once Rick had disappeared into the night again, Daryl rolled back into his tent, heart still beating a mile a minute. His body was still working in overdrive, flooded with adrenaline. It was probably a good thing that Rick had woke him up in such a way; there was no way that he'd be falling asleep on watch, that was for sure.

The kid hadn't stirred. He was lying on his side, bare back towards Daryl, shirt lost somewhere in the twisted mess of blankets and sheets. Daryl wasn't exactly sure what to do with him. Was he going to freak out if he woke up in the morning still in the tent? Was anyone _else_ going to freak out if they happened to glimpse him stumbling out in the light of day?

In the end, Daryl just couldn't be bothered to wake Glenn up. Even if Glenn had been attempting to hide it, Daryl knew that he wasn't sleeping very well. The bags underneath his eyes had been getting larger and larger with each passing day and if he was going to freak out about getting a few extra hours of sleep, well so be it. Daryl would deal with that outburst when it came.

In the meantime, he had a camp to look after. He knew that they probably could have gotten away with not keeping someone posted all night but that would have been a risky move. They'd all seen what had happened when they'd let their guard down once and that had been at the fucking CDC; that place was supposed to be indestructible. If it could be destroyed (even if it was indirectly) by the walkers, then a little farm would be a piece of goddamn cake to the undead freaks.

The sky was just barely starting to lighten on the horizon, changing from black to indigo, but he knew it would be awhile still before the dawn actually arrived. From the top of the RV, he had an okay view of the surrounding camp. It was hard to pick out details, sure, but if there was something moving around, he'd see it. As it was, everyone in the camp seemed to be sleeping a little easier. He could hear someone, probably the old man, snoring below him and he couldn't hear any of Carol's sobs.

For once, it was a good night.

He'd only been on top of the RV for maybe half an hour, perched in the wobbly old lawn chair with his crossbow across his lap, when he heard one of the tents unzip. He assumed it was just Shane or Rick getting up to take a piss and didn't pay it too much mind. However, only seconds later, the ladder of the RV was creaking and Glenn was hauling himself up over the side. He'd put his shirt from the previous day back on but he was barefoot and without his baseball hat. Daryl could see that his hair was tousled and sticking up and he had to bite back the urge to ruffle it even more.

The kid looked good with bedhead, he had to say.

"What're you doing up?" he asked. Glenn shrugged as he sat beside him, knee bumping against Daryl's leg.

"Don't know. Just woke up. Figured you were on watch. You don't mind me being up here, do you?"

"Nah. Could have worse company." Glenn's only response was to smack Daryl's shin lightly before tilting his head sideways, resting it against Daryl's knee. Daryl felt his leg stiffen slightly but he forced himself to relax, laying his left hand on top of Glenn's head. He'd been completely fine with practically cuddling the kid behind the church only a few days ago, in broad fucking daylight. If he could do that, he could show him some damn affection when there was almost zero chance of them being caught.

They didn't say a word to each other for the longest time. The sky got lighter and lighter, orange bleeding from the horizon to banish the blue, but they still didn't say a word. Frankly, Daryl didn't feel any need to. There wasn't really much to talk about anyways and if he had something to say to Glenn, he was sure that he could get away with telling him in broad daylight. But the affectionate stuff he couldn't just do at random. Even if both Andrea and Rick knew 'bout their secret, he wasn't going to throw that stuff around so everyone else could see it. There were only a few hours a day where he could actually pay Glenn some real attention and he planned on using his time wisely.

"Hey Daryl?" Glenn twisted around so that he was on his knees in front of Daryl (and _damn_ , Daryl had to admit that Glenn looked awful nice there).

"Yeah?" There was a bruise on Glenn's shoulder, peeking out from under the hem of his shirt and Daryl adjusted the fabric accordingly, hiding the mark his mouth had made only hours before.

"I… I tried to pray last night. After you fell asleep."

Daryl knew that the statement shouldn't have stopped him in his tracks but he couldn't help it. He'd never really taken Glenn to be a religious guy; as far as he could remember, he hadn't heard one peep from him about God or any of that stuff. It was very possible that he was wrong but for reasons he couldn't really figure out, it still seemed weird.

"Get any answer?" For a very long time, Glenn stayed silent, his eyes down turned, teeth working at the corner of his mouth. Finally, he shook his head and swiveled around so that he was sitting on the edge of the RV.

"No. Nothing." He left with that, sliding back down the ladder and moving back towards his own tent. The sky was now fully orange and the rest of the camp was beginning to rise. Only seconds after Glenn reached his tent, Shane had slid out of his, shirtless, apparently greeting the day with his abs. Daryl only groaned and clambered off the RV as well, intent on getting the breakfast fire started. Usually he left that up to someone else but he wanted to start looking for Sophia as soon as possible and the only way he could do that was if he got some food in his gut.

***

By ten o'clock, they were hitting the woods that surrounded the farm. Rick had divided their search area into a small grid and assigned a team to each sector. Daryl was the exception, of course; though tracking with the others had been less of a hellish experience than he'd expected, being alone was what he was used to. He tracked better in silence, when he didn't have to look after someone else's ass on top of his own.

It was shaping up to be a damn hot day; the crickets were already going mad, filling the forest air with their frenzied sounds. Daryl put the noise in the back of his mind. When he was a kid, him and Merle had slept out on the porch in the summer and he'd learned to sleep through the racket out of necessity. It was almost comforting now, background noise that was much more natural than trucks blaring by in the middle of the night or the sound of Merle's bike when he drunkenly pulled donuts in the front yard.

God, there were some sounds Daryl _really_ didn't miss.

By noon, he still hadn't found any sign that Sophia had wandered into his search grid. Hell, he couldn't even find evidence that there had been walkers around, just a few deer tracks here and there. It was strange, actually; he knew that he was only around a mile or two from the farm but it was like the infection had never reached the woods. Things were just continuing on the way they always had.

That disconcerted him for some reason, but he couldn't pinpoint why.

Roughly half an hour passed before he came across the house. It was sitting in the middle of a clearing, with only a dusty driveway leading up to it. It looked like it had been pretty nice looking at one point or another but time had done a number on it. The brown paint was flaking off and the concrete at the bottom was exposed and crumbling. Nonetheless, he still liked it. It reminded him a bit of his old house (before it went up in flames), right down to the creaky screen door that was swaying in the wind. He'd always thought about getting a place like it once he'd saved up a bit but that had never come to fruition.

He tore his mind away from the useless nostalgia and brought his crossbow in front of him, holding it loosely in his hands. He still hadn't seen any sign that Sophia had been around but it was all too possibly that she'd wandered in from one of the other sides.

He stepped up onto the porch, rotten wood groaning dangerously beneath his feet. He couldn't hear any noise coming from within the house but he wasn't one to throw caution to the wind. Pulling the screen door open slowly (and wincing at the horrendous creak that came from its rusty hinges), he stepped inside, pulling the door closed behind himself. The interior of the house looked much like the exterior. Most of the furnishings were brown and the carpet was beginning to pull up where it met the wall, exposing the rough plywood underneath. Despite the condition, he still liked the house. It was laid out simply, one hallway with rooms on either side and a wide set of stairs going up. It didn't show any signs of having been inhabited in quite some time; when he stepped into the living room, he coughed on the thick dust that covered all the furnishings.

When he stepped into the kitchen, he noticed that the pantry door was open and he immediately lifted up his crossbow, prepared for anything that stepped out of it. When nothing emerged, he stepped forward and looked inside, his gut dropping slightly when he saw what was inside. Something had turned the inside of the closet into a nest of sorts. The floor was a mess of rags and torn up clothing and empty cans of food littered the surrounding area. Even though she was a pretty gangly girl, Daryl felt certain that Sophia would have fit inside fairly easy, even with the door closed.

It took him a moment to realize that the emotion spiking through him was hope.

"Sophia?" He turned and made his way up the stairs, listening for any rustling. It was only when he reached the landing that he noticed the smell. The wind had blown it away downstairs but upstairs, where the windows were closed, it seemed to be oozing out of the damn walls, permeating the very air itself.

He knew that smell all too well but even though he was practically choking on it, he continued forward, peeking in all the bedrooms, looking for the little girl who was probably scared like hell. By the time he got to the last closed door, the one secreting the smell, he could barely breathe. His stomach felt like it had taken up residence in his throat, both from nerves and from the smell. He quickly turned the doorknob and when he saw what was inside, he managed to sigh from relief once before he had to swallow down vomit.

Sophia was not the cause of the smell. Instead, there was an old man sitting in a rocking chair, facing the window. The back of his head was gone, splattered across the floor and neatly made bed. There was a photo on the ground beside him and even under the layer of blood and brain tissue, it was clear that it had been his family.

Just another geezer who had taken the easy way out. Daryl didn't want to think about where the man's family was so he left the room, heading out the back door. He called Sophia's name twice but she was nowhere to be seen. If it had been her who had been in the closet (and for his sake, Daryl _had_ to believe that it was), she was gone again. He couldn't help the frustrated groan that came from his mouth as he sunk down into the scrub grass that filled the back yard.

This wasn't fair. He knew it was a child's phrase but there was no way around it. To come so close to finding her, only to lose her again? It was like God was playing some kind of fucking puzzle game with them all, handing over clues only when they absolutely needed them.

It was only when he stood up that he noticed the flower. It was practically buried in the grass, only given away by a little glint of white when the wind blew. Carefully, he plucked it from the ground so he could get a better look.

It was a Cherokee Rose. The state flower of Georgia. The only reason he knew that was from a presentation a girl in his eleventh grade class had done on the plant. For some reason, the story she had told, about each flower representing the tears of a Cherokee woman, had stuck with him. When the wind made the grass sway a little more, he could see more of the flowers, nearly hidden from view. There were at least four, all fairly low to the ground, like they were newly sprouted.

Carol had been crying a lot. He wasn't entirely sure if he believed the tale about the flowers but he was pretty certain that if the flowers _were_ blooming for anyone, they were blooming for her little girl.

He stayed in the woods for another four or so hours, combing his search grid over and over again, unable to find any definitive answers about where Sophia had gone. By the time the sun was beginning to cast long shadows in the forest, he was frustrated, tired and hungry. It was another day with no goddamn answers. How many more could there really be?

On his way back, he found an old, muddied up beer bottle, half buried in the dirt. It certainly wasn't the most elegant vase for the Cherokee Rose but he took it nonetheless, rinsing it off in a stream before putting the flower in. When he got back to the farm, he went straight to the RV, crossbow slung over his back. He heard the crying before he even reached the door. It was no longer as loud as previous nights, which Daryl thought was even more upsetting. It was obvious that Carol was trying to hide her pain, which just wasn't right.

He really had to get out of that habit, of assuming that the world cared which things were wrong and which were right.

When he stepped inside, she immediately stopped crying. Her eyes were bleary and bloodshot but she still gave him an apologetic smile. For a few moments, he had no idea how to proceed. He didn't want to give Carol a patronizing speech, to tell her the shit she already knew and didn't want to hear anymore.

So, he simply sat the makeshift vase on the table and told the story of the flower. He couldn't remember if all the facts were right but he knew that he got the details correctly. Carol sat silently as he talked but he could tell that she was listening intently. At the end, he swallowed heavily, unsure of how to cap off the story. He couldn't just walk away; that worked for other things but this was not that kind of situation.

"I'm not stupid enough to think that there are flowers blooming for my brother." It was only when the words left his mouth that it hit Daryl. He hadn't given much thought to his brother's fate, not since leaving Atlanta; there simply hadn't been any time. But now, he had opened an entire other can of worms, which he'd have to deal with sooner rather than later.

"But y'know what? I'm pretty sure that this flower is blooming for your little girl." With that, he left, swallowing past the lump in his throat. He had no idea if his words had helped Carol; all he could do was hope that they'd been a nice break from the crap the others had been feeding her.

The kid came out of nowhere. Daryl had been about to slide into his tent and grab a nap but suddenly, Glenn was there, shoving him inside and zipping up the flap behind them. It was a risky maneuver, especially since the sun was still up, but when the kid flopped into his lap and kissed him, he stopped caring about risks.

"Sorry. It's just nice to see that you're safe," Glenn muttered when he pulled away, panting for breath. Daryl gave him a moment before surging back in, tangling his fingers in Glenn's hair, holding on for dear life. The noises that came from Glenn's mouth were downright addictive and before Daryl could think things through, he was mouthing at his neck and throat, dragging his teeth over Glenn's collarbone through his shirt. It was only then that Glenn pulled away, leaning back so they weren't in such painfully close proximity. In only seconds, his face went from shamelessly aroused (Daryl really wished he could take a picture of that) to worrisome.

"Daryl, are you okay? Did you see something today? You look… well, you look kind of spooked, really." At first, Daryl didn't know how to answer the questions. Thinking back on his day, he realized that he'd seen a lot. He'd seen the battered house, the house he could imagine fixing up with Glenn in another time. He'd seen the photo of the geezer's family, sprayed with blood and brain. He'd seen the nest in the closet, the nest that might have been made by a small animal.

Most of all, he'd seen no real, definitive sign of Sophia.

"Nothing," he finally muttered, pressing his face into Glenn's shoulder so that he didn't have to see his worried face anymore. "Didn't see nothing."


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:** Homophobic language and gratuitous rearranging of events.
> 
> Oh my God. If any of you meet me in real life, feel free to gimme a good smack in the head for neglecting this for so long. But now that TWD is back on television, my inspiration is back so hoorah! New chapter!   
> To everyone that stuck around this entire time; I love you. I'd buy you all coffee if I could. xx.

Daryl woke before the sun came up, shaking himself out of a nightmare that was already slipping out of his mind. Whatever it was, it had made him wake up short of breath, sweat clinging to his back and face and after a rude awakening like that, there wasn't anyway he was going to get back to sleep. Glenn was still wrapped up in the blankets, one of his shoulders peeking out. There was a hint of a bruise where his neck met his shoulder and Daryl really hoped that nobody noticed it or there were going to be some real interesting questions coming his way.

Whatever. The kid was sleeping in his tent almost nightly now so it was only a matter of time before the questions started coming anyways. He wasn't sure how to feel about that, especially at five o'clock in the morning so he shoved the thoughts out of his head and slid out from underneath the blankets, grabbing the previous day's shirt from where it was tangled around his leg. 

Other than what looked like Shane sitting on top of the RV, no one else was awake. Hell, Daryl wasn't even sure if Shane was actually awake; there were some suspicious snores coming from the direction of the vehicle, although that could have been the old man down below. There was still fog in the field beyond their little camp and the sun was only a hint on the horizon. For all intents and purposes, it looked like the start of a beautiful day. 

It would be a good day to look for Sophia.

He decided to take some time to wander around the farm, to get a better look at the surroundings. There was a barn set back from the house that looked as if it hadn't held any animals in a long, long time. Closer to the pasture, there was a newer looking stable where he could hear some horses whinnying faintly. The grass was slippery under his bare feet as he walked towards the latter, avoiding a chicken that had gotten out of its coop. 

There were three horses inside the stable, munching on hay and making quiet noises to themselves. He instantly recognized the one closest to the door as the one Maggie had rode in on. He thought about stroking its mane but it snorted loudly and he thought better of it. It had been years since he had rode a horse, so long ago that he could hardly remember, but he could recall his daddy's words about the creatures all too well. 

_“You watch those fuckin' things. May seem like your friend when you're feeding them but they'd throw on the ground just as soon as let you ride them.”_

He was pretty sure that his old man had been drunk when he'd issued that warning but nonetheless, he kept it in the back of his head as he walked down the center aisle. The horse at the end looked younger than the others and more alert. Even at the early hour, its eyes were wide and awake, gazing at everything around as it worked on the hay protruding from its lips. 

“What do you say about going for a ride today?” Daryl asked it, ignoring the voice in the back of his mind that said talking to a horse out loud was stupid. “That sound like a good idea?”

The horse whinnied once. That was good enough for Daryl.

***

By the time he returned to the tent, the sky was turning orange and Glenn was stirring in his sleep. His limbs were flopped everywhere, taking up almost all of their sleeping space and as soon as Daryl accidentally stepped on his knee, he grunted loudly, jerking upwards like a gun had gone off.

“The fuck is going on?” he muttered, eyes barely open, hair plastered to the side of his head. Daryl couldn't help but snort; the kid looked absolutely ridiculous and the petulant look on his face once he'd rubbed the sleep out of his eyes was extremely amusing. 

“Just stepped on you,” Daryl said, tossing the covers aside to find his boots. “You take up too much damn room.” 

“Says you. Pretty sure I had about a foot of sleeping room last night. And you stole all the blankets!”

“Didn't your momma tell you it ain't right to lie?” He knew he was smiling like a goddamn fool but he just couldn't help himself. The kind of friendly teasing he always saw between others had never come naturally to him but now, it was coming along perfectly fine and even with sleep still crusted in the corner of his eyes, the smile on Glenn's face made him almost absurdly pleased.

“Morning, by the way,” Glenn murmured, pushing aside the blankets to find his shirt. When the blankets ended up in a heap at his feet, it hit Daryl that the kid had passed out in just his boxers. 

“Mornin',” he muttered in return, grabbing his crossbow so that he had something else to look at other than the thin body that was _very_ close to him, all pale skin and bruises and muscles stretched tightly over bones. He was concentrating on picking some dirt out of the grip of his bow when Glenn kissed his cheek and oh lord, his face was _definitely_ red now. 

“Thanks,” he grunted, trying not to sound as if he wasn't both embarrassed and ridiculously happy at the same time. It obviously didn't get past Glenn, who merely grinned at him before scampering out of the tent, fully clothed. After taking a minute to get his bearings back (good fucking Christ, he should not have been that affected by a peck, he was a grown man for Christ's sake), he pulled on one of his few long sleeved shirts and climbed out as well, blinking his eyes in the early morning sunlight. Some of the others were stirring but none of them seemed to have noticed that Glenn had climbed out of a tent that wasn't his own. Rick was sitting at the edge of the fire pit, trying to get it alight for breakfast and Daryl settled down beside him, offering out the lighter from his pocket when Rick's refused to get going. 

“So what's the search plan for today?” he asked, taking the lighter back once smoke started to curl from the pit. “Search the grids again?” Rick shook his head and leaned back on his haunches, rubbing one palm against the stubble on his face. 

Daryl couldn't help but notice that a lot of Rick's beard seemed to be coming in gray. 

“I don't know Daryl. Maybe we'll go out later today.” The answer seemed very non-committal and Daryl didn't like it one bit.

“Speak for yourself. I'm going out there on my own then.” He knew almost as soon as he stood up that he'd been too rude but quite frankly, he didn't really feel bad about it. Sure, Rick was going through a hell of a lot, what with his boy being shot, but at least Carl was alive. They didn't have that luxury when it came to Sophia. They didn't know anything about what had happened to her and Daryl knew that if there was one thing in the world that could tear you apart, it was uncertainty. 

“Daryl, wait.” He'd made it halfway to the stable before the kid caught up to him, his shoes untied, laces flopping on the still wet grass. “Where are you going?”

“Going to look for Sophia. Seems like I'm the only one 'round here who still gives a fuck about her.” 

“You know that isn't true-”

“Do I?” They'd reached the stable and Daryl spun around, making Glenn almost slam into him. “You see anyone else looking for her? What the hell you doing today?”

“Maggie asked me to help out with some stuff. I'm trying to make this place better for all of us, Daryl!” Daryl couldn't help it; he lashed out with his fist, slamming his knuckles into one of the wooden support posts. The skin immediately split and he could feel blood dripping down his hands but he ignored the sting in favor of getting his chosen horse ready to go out. He knew that he was breathing too hard, knew that he was going to say something really stupid if he wasn't careful and so he forced his eyes to stare straight ahead, completely focused on the task at hand until the horse was saddled up. Only then could he turn to look at Glenn, who was leaning against the post he'd hit, staring very intently at his feet. 

“I'm sorry,” Glenn muttered, dragging his still untied shoes on the dusty floor. 

“Sorry for what?” Daryl asked, beginning to lead the horse out of its stall. “Ain't like you did anything.” He knew he should have said something else, anything else but he'd screwed up enough. Talking wasn't his strong suit, never had been. It just screwed things up further. As for goodbyes, well, what was the point in that either? Seemed like saying it would just be some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy thing. 

So instead, he squeezed Glenn's shoulder once, lingering far longer than he would have even a week ago, before hopping up onto the horse and trotting out of the stable. He already had his crossbow and with that, he set off into the forest, taking care not to stray from the path, his father's words about horses stuck in the back of his head. 

The forest was surprisingly loud, filled with the competing cries of birds and crickets and chipmunks. Nonetheless, despite the volume of nature, Daryl managed to tune it all out, retreating into his mind, focused exclusively on the task at hand. This was what his Pa had trained him to do, had spent hours and day ingraining in him. He could find Sophia. He _had_ to find Sophia. 

He kept the horse at a steady walk, trying to follow the path but after an hour, he hadn't spotted a single clue, not even a broken branch that would have indicated Sophia's presence. He had nothing to show for his time except for a thick layer of sweat on his face and what felt like a sunburn on the back of his neck. He could feel frustration ebbing up inside of him, dying to get out. A drop of sweat fell into his eye and he wiped off his forehead, trying to push his bangs back onto his head. Fuck it was hot. He knew that he should have brought some water or something, should have brought some food. He'd been stupid, leaving in such a hurry, he should have-

By the time he heard the tell-tale noise of a rattlesnake's tail, he was already flying through the air, bucked off the horse's back. He had just enough time to think _fucking horse_ before he was slamming into the ground, tumbling down the side of a hill faster than he could comprehend. All he could feel was pain smashing into him from all sides, worse than any beating his Pa had ever given him, worse than any whooping Merle had delivered when he was drunker than a skunk. Pure agony suddenly flared in his ribs and then he was flat on his back. He didn't dare open his eyes; even with them closed, he could still feel the world spinning rapidly. Every little twitch brought on another wave of excruciating pain, pain that he had never known. He flicked his eyes open for one second and that miniscule movement was all it took for his vision to abruptly white-out, sending him into oblivion.

***

“Oh little bro, what the fuck did you do this time?”

When Daryl faded back into consciousness, it was to the sound of Merle's voice. He slowly cracked one eye open and sure enough, Merle was leaning over top of him, smiling like a smug motherfucker, both his hands intact at the ends of his arms. He _tsk tsked_ quietly and Daryl groaned, shutting his eye again. 

“You ain't real. I'm seeing shit,” he muttered, wincing as the pain in his ribs waxed and waned. 

“I could say the same thing 'bout you, y'know,” his hallucination answered, poking him sharply in the forehead. Daryl's eyes flew open and he barely managed to bite back a curse; the jab (or maybe it was the bright light) had sent daggers burrowing into his head. He probably had a damn concussion, which was bad enough, but now he was seeing his brother, his probably dead brother, who was hovering over him with a look like he was gonna whomp Daryl a good one. 

This day was just getting better and better.

“What're you talking about?” he groaned, attempting to raise his right arm so that he could shield his eyes from the sun. He barely managed to raise his arm off of the ground before it flopped back down, sending another bolt of pain through his entire body. 

“Well, correct me if I'm wrong, but seems like you've gone queer. That correct?” 

“Fuck off.” Even though Daryl was completely aware of the fact that Merle wasn't actually there, that he was long dead and (probably) reanimated, his brother's words still made him flush red with shame. 

“Knew it. I always knew you were a faggot.” Merle sat back on his haunches and shook his head, looking off into the distance, expression a combination of barely-contained rage and complete disappointment.

“Just can't believe you, little brother. Can't believe how weak you are now.”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Daryl said, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You don't have a goddamn clue what you're talking 'bout. That kid don't make me weak Merle; _you_ made me weak, you stupid fuck.” Merle started to chuckle, shaking his head like he'd caught Daryl doing something very bad. Then, with one quick movement, he had his hand around Daryl's throat and sure, it was just a hallucination but Daryl still flinched. 

“When you gonna get it through your head that I'm the only one who's ever gonna give a shit about you?” Merle said, still chuckling. “That kid? He don't care 'bout you. None of that group do, you understand me?”

“That's nothing but bullshit. You're just pissed over nothing. We did the best we could to get you off that damn rooftop!”

“Oh baby bro, whatever you say.” Merle shook his head once again and released his grip on Daryl's throat before standing up, looming over Daryl so that he was blocking out the sun. “Well, wish I could stay and talk but I'm thinking it's about time for ya to wake up.” 

“What?” 

“Get off your ass, Daryl!”

Daryl blinked once, twice and Merle was gone. In his place, however, was a rotten walker that was grinding its teeth on the worn rubber of his shoe, growling as its canines gnashed at the rapidly deteriorating material. Another growl of a different pitch came from his left and when Daryl swiveled his head (steadfastly ignoring the brief flash of white across his vision), he saw that there was another walker entering the clearing, rapidly closing in on him. 

The adrenaline took over the pain and he immediately started moving. He pulled his leg back and slammed it into the first walker's nose, spewing blood and sending rotten skin through the air. The blow stunned the thing for a few moments but it wasn't stopping; it was quickly regaining its bearings, gnashing its teeth again. Daryl quickly scanned the environment, looking for something. His crossbow was within reach and it was then that he finally noticed that one of his bolts was stuck through the flesh of his side, resulting in the throbbing pain he'd been experiencing. 

There was no time to grab the crossbow or deal with the bolt; the walker tackled him, arms flailing wildly, attempting to tear at his exposed arms, teeth aiming to rip out his throat. He used all the strength in his arms to shove the thing off of him so that he had enough time to stand up. There was a tree limb of a decent size beside him and he immediately grabbed it, smacking the walker in the side of the head with it. The branch made a noticeable dent in its skull but still it attacked, knocking Daryl onto his back again. This time, he used his legs to flip it over so that he was on top of it. This time, he brought the more pointed end of the stick straight down through the thing's forehead, impaling its skull, sending black bits of flesh in all directions. Daryl had no time to wipe the rotten meat off of his hands; the other walker was almost upon him and seeing as the branch had stuck right into the ground underneath the first walker's head, reusing it wasn't much of an option. As far as he could tell, that left him with one choice.

This was going to hurt. 

Taking a deep breath, he grasped the bolt and started pulling it out of his side as fast as he could without tearing his flesh any more than necessary. There was red bleeding into his vision and he felt like he was going to throw up but he kept pulling, hardly able to breathe until the bolt was free from his body. The walker was about to step on his feet, foaming at the mouth and he fell back into his zone, completing the actions that were ingrained in his fingers and mind. 

This was it, life or death.

The walker's fingers brushed against his wrist and then he was firing the bolt through its eye, sending it to the ground. After making sure that there were no more dead fuckers roaming around, Daryl collapsed onto his back, his breathing rapid. His fight or flight response was still going strong and he felt like he was on the verge of hyperventilating. He'd been close to death plenty of times, had looked it in the eyes, but this? Christ, he'd practically kissed it. Even with his dad's derisive words about fear ringing in the back of his head, Daryl wasn't stupid enough to deny that he was fucking terrified. He'd come so close to biting it. 

How would the kid have felt if he'd died? Part of Daryl, the part that he hated, said that Glenn would just move on with his life, that he probably wouldn't shed a single tear. But Daryl knew that wasn't true, knew it because if anything happened to Glenn, he knew he'd be shedding some tears. 

Christ. He hadn't even fucking said goodbye to the kid, so wrapped in the the self-fulfilling prophecy bullshit. What did it even matter now? Regardless of what you said to someone, you still had the same fucking chance of getting bit. Why hadn't he just said goodbye, for fuck's sake? 

An idea hit him then and he knew he was going to follow through with it, consequences be damned. When he got back to that camp, he was gonna grab Glenn and kiss him and if anyone saw it, so fucking be it. The kid needed to know that Daryl felt the same way, even if he couldn't say it. 

But first things first. There was blood trickling down his side. He tore off his long sleeved shirt and started ripping at the sleeves with his hunting knife. Once he had a small patch ripped off, he took a deep breath and pressed it into his wound, biting his lip so that he didn't holler and draw more walkers. Once it was pressed into the wound deep enough to staunch the blood flow, he looped what remained of the sleeves around his body, pulling them tight around his ribs and tying them into a secure knot that wouldn't move. It made it awfully hard to breathe but he was sure that he could sacrifice some breath in return for staying alive. 

Now that the hard part was done, he could take a moment to survey his surroundings. He was at the end of a small stream that disappeared off into the woods. It was hardly a foot deep and it was only when Daryl noticed how clear the water was that he realized just how goddamn dry his throat had gotten. He dropped to his knees in the water, not caring that his jeans got soaked (they probably needed the wash anyways) and scooped the liquid into his mouth, drinking deeply. It tasted so much better than the stale bottled stuff he was used to and he drank until his throat no longer felt like sandpaper. Once that was done, he sat back on his haunches and gave the environment another, more thorough survey. He knew that, to find his way back to the farm, he could probably follow the stream until it led to more flat ground but that would waste time. The easiest way back to the farm was up the hill he'd fallen down and he cast a glare in its direction, noting the cracked branches and misplaced rocks that had been moved by his descent. 

If he was gonna climb that, he was gonna need some food. 

He waited five minutes, crouched against a log on the shore and soon enough, a squirrel came venturing down from a nearby tree, dopey from being full of food. Hunting knife already out of his sheath, he waited until it stopped on the log before he moved, slamming the blade through the creature and into the wood. The thing squeaked once before it died and even as he muttered _sorry_ in his head, Daryl started cutting it open, drawing the blade from its throat to groin. Its guts spilled out onto the bark and with only an ounce of disgust, Daryl started eating, filling his innards with that of the squirrel's. It wasn't the first time that he'd had to eat the raw insides of a creature and he knew it wouldn't be the last so he tried to enjoy the experience as much as he could. In the end, he was getting food in his stomach, food that would give him the energy to climb that damn hill and get back to camp and that was the important part. 

Once he'd gotten all the edible bits down, he licked his fingers free of the blood and went to return his knife to its sheath. However, his eyes caught the prone bodies of the walkers first and an idea slowly began to formulate itself in his head. He had no idea where it had come from but he could see the logic behind it. 

All sorts of people took trophies, after all, especially once they'd just cheated death. 

Taking the ears off of the walkers was easy; once he got a good grip on the skin, sawing through the rotten cartilage took a matter of seconds. After that, it was all a matter of carving holes in them and threading them through a thin strip of cloth from his long sleeved shirt. He knew that the smell should have bothered him but frankly, between the blood, sweat and squirrel innards, the smell of rotten flesh barely registered to his nose. He made sure the makeshift necklace was tied securely around his neck and once that was done, he turned towards the hill, ready to begin his climb.

That was when he noticed the little rag doll on the shore. He'd mistaken it for a rock before but now that he was closer, he could see that it had limbs and yarn hair that was unraveling. He'd seen this doll before, had seen it in the hands of a terrified little girl. 

_Sophia._

He bent down to pick the doll up, wringing some of the excess water out of it. There was no mistaking that the doll was Sophia's but there was no way to gauge how long it had been laying in the shallows. He couldn't see any tiny footprints in the surrounding sand but then again, his wrestling match with the walker would have erased any trace of her footsteps. Nonetheless, casting another glance around the clearing, he couldn't help but yell her name once, just to see if she was around. 

He waited five minutes. Nothing. He knew that he should have started canvassing the surrounding area, should have called her name more but, loath as he was to admit it, he just couldn't. Now that the adrenaline was dissipating, he could feel his strength ebbing and he needed everything he had just to make it back to the farm.

But still, it was a sign, the only sign they'd had since she'd disappeared. Least the day hadn't been a complete fucking write-off. He tucked the waterlogged doll into the waistband of his jeans so that she couldn't fall out and turned back towards the hill, mustering up his strength. 

“Alright,” he muttered, throwing his crossbow over his shoulder, “let's do this.”

***

He lost track of time on the climb. He had to stop multiple times to catch his breath and on a few occasions, when the loose earth gave way beneath his feet, he was sure that he was fucked. By the time he finally reached the top, he had almost no strength left in his arms and he could hardly stand up. He was positive that his left ankle was twisted and so when he finally mustered up enough energy to start walking, he had to drag it behind him. There was blood and sweat slowly dripping into his eyes and when he tried to wipe it away with his hands, he only made the problem worse. It was immensely painful just keeping his eyes open but he forced himself to keep looking straight ahead, following the path. He was pretty sure that blood had soaked through his makeshift tourniquet and his arms were aching from the numerous cuts and bruises he'd sustained and his body _really_ wanted to sleep but he just kept limping along.

While his eyes stayed on the path, his body automatically retracing its steps, his mind wandered. In particular, it wandered to that night at the CDC; not only was it the _last_ time he'd felt safe (even with a heap of doubt on top), it was also the _first_ real time he'd felt safe. It was the first time he'd ever felt truly comfortable with someone, the first time he hadn't _worried_ about much of anything and it was all because of the kid. 

He was certain that he'd known since that night how he felt about Glenn but, stubborn as always, he hadn't been able to admit it to himself. He really did care for him, more than he had for anyone else in his life, even family. It'd taken a fucking near-miss with death to make him be able to say it to himself but hey, better late than never.

He wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to say the words out loud but, in his head at least, he could admit that he loved Glenn.

The texture of the ground underneath his feet changed and he snapped out of his reverie. He'd apparently wandered off the path a little bit but nonetheless, although he was in a field rather than on the trail, he could see the farm ahead of him and he was pretty sure he'd never seen such a beautiful fucking sight. His ankle had gotten worse but he forced himself to keep moving; he could collapse once he was within the line of the fence. 

When he glanced back up, Rick, Shane, T-Dog and Glenn were racing towards him, each of them holding a weapon in their hands. None of them looked very welcoming and Daryl couldn't help but chuckle to himself, taking another slow, dragging step. He knew that he looked (and felt) like shit but really? They thought he was a walker? Fuckers must have been blind or something. 

The running footsteps stopped and he looked up, noticing the look on Glenn's face when he recognized him. It looked like it was only pure shock that was keeping him from surging forward and as much as Daryl wanted to kiss him, onlookers be damned, he was certain that he was _way_ too gross for that at the moment. Rick's revolver was half-raised and he couldn't help but smirk, looking the former deputy in the eye. 

“Y'know, this is the third time you've pointed that at me. You gonna shoot?” he asked and even though he could barely recognize his own voice, wrecked as it was with pain, the words seemed to do the trick. Rick lowered his gun and he opened his mouth to say something, small smile forming on his face. 

Then suddenly the side of Daryl's head exploded with searing pain and everything cut immediately to black.


	21. Chapter 21.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry to leave you all waiting again... and I'm so sorry that this chapter is kind of a filler and really short but it seemed like an appropriate place to end it. 
> 
> Also, you know the drill by now: events in this chapter may be slightly different from how they occurred in the show.

One moment, Daryl was staring down at the grass, vaguely aware that his feet were dragging along the ground behind him. He could hear overlapping voices in his ears, the words too mingled and loud to be coherent and he could feel something steadily dripping down his forehead towards his eyes. Then, he blinked and seemingly within seconds, he was lying in a bed, his temple stinging, overwhelmed by noise and light and sensation. It felt like there were hands all over him and he kept trying to jerk away from them, tried to lash out with his feet and his arms so they'd get off of him. He could hear someone roaring wordlessly above the din but it was only as the roar caught in his throat that he realized the godawful noise was coming from him. Then the stinging in his temple spiked into agony and he was gone again, falling into a gray abyss with no light and no sound and, thankfully, no pain. 

When he woke up long enough to have more than a tenuous grasp on reality, the room was dark. After his eyes adjusted, he realized that he was in the guest room of the farmhouse, the blankets pulled up to his neck. Someone had removed his shirt and boots and when he rolled over towards the door, he could feel bandages on his ribs and wrapped around his head, tugging at the skin where they were taped down. He could hear voices coming from beyond the door, hushed murmurs punctuated by the sound of silverware clinking and once it registered what was going on, his stomach growled loudly. It had to have been at least six hours since the meager squirrel innards and any food sounded like good food at the moment. 

He was attempting to figure out if his legs would support him long enough to get up when the door slowly creaked open and the lamp on the bedside table clicked on. Carol was standing in the doorway with a full plate of food in her hands and Daryl propped himself up against the headboard, stretching his legs out in front of him. The simple series of movements made his head spin and he was still exhausted but getting rid of the hunger pangs was his main priority at the moment. 

“Thanks,” he muttered as she put the loaded plate into his lap. He didn't know what the occasion was to warrant such a feast but he wasn't going to complain one bit. She smiled at him before reaching into the front pocket of her cardigan and pulling out Sophia's doll. While Daryl was glad that someone had been smart enough to give it to her, it only brought up thoughts of the other trophy he had brought back from his encounter. Someone had taken the ear necklace and although he had no idea who had done it, he had a feeling there was going to be some pretty awkward questions coming his way once he could get out of bed properly. 

“Was there anything else?” she asked, fingers absently smoothing the frayed yarn hair away from the doll's pale face. Daryl shook his head, picking up a piece of chicken with his fingers and dropping it into his mouth. 

“No footprints or anything. Just the doll.” She put the doll back in her pocket and then leaned in and kissed the part of his forehead that was covered in a bandage. Wincing hadn't been part of his original plan but it had been an unexpected gesture and she didn't seem to take it too personally, based on her small smile. He was sure that, on some level, she understood. 

“You're every bit as good as them,” she said quietly, hands smoothing over the lump of the doll in her pocket. “Every bit.” 

“Thanks.” He knew it was a stupid response but it was the only one that had come to mind. She simply smiled again and left, closing the door quietly behind her. Her words stayed in his head long after she'd gone and the more he thought about it, the more they unsettled some fundamental part of him. Frankly, most of him thought that they were just a lie; he wasn't as good as Rick or even Shane for that matter. Much as he didn't trust the latter, he certainly couldn't deny that Shane had been an integral part of the group. He'd protected them from the beginning, when most of them were nothing more than useless city slickers and even if it hadn't been an entirely selfless action on his part, it was still more than Daryl had ever had the desire to do. And even if he hadn't been around as long as Shane, there was no doubt that Rick was somehow the glue holding them all together. Daryl didn't quite know how the former deputy was managing to do it, but it was the truth. 

What was he compared to that? He'd never wanted to be a leader, never wanted to be at the front of a crowd. That had always been all Merle's game and even now with his brother gone (or at least banished to a figment of his imagination), he felt no desire to step up to that role. He just brought them food and did his best to find a lost little girl and at the end of the day, that really wasn't anything too impressive.

Nonetheless, the other part of him, the tiny part that spent most of its time buried, could acknowledge that Carol had no reason to lie to him. He knew that she really believed what she'd said but if she'd been trying to get _him_ to believe it, she'd failed. That was going to take a little more than one statement, no matter how well-meaning it was; fuck, Daryl wasn't even sure if it was possible at all and truthfully, he didn't really want to spend too much time pondering it, especially not when he still had food to devour.

Once he'd completely cleaned off the plate, the full extent of his exhaustion came rushing back. But he'd just barely gotten his head back down onto the pillows, plate on the floor beside the bed, lamp still on, when the door creaked open again. He flicked his eyes open, ready to growl out a curse word but once his vision focused, he could see that it was Glenn standing in the doorway, nervously drumming his fingers off the door frame. 

“You just gonna stand there and look at me?” he grumbled, shoving his arm underneath the too-soft pillow. Taking a quick look behind him, Glenn stepped into the room, closing the door behind himself. 

“I thought you'd be asleep again,” he said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “I just wanted to make sure that you were doing okay.”

“Feel fucking peachy." After another moment of standing there staring down at the ground, Glenn sat down on the very edge of the bed, his hands in his lap, fingers twitching slightly like he was trying to will them not to move. Watching their constant flitting was actually making Daryl kind of nauseous so he moved over until he could grab Glenn's wrist with his hand. 

“Quit your movin' and come here,” he muttered, tugging harder so that the kid would get the message. With another glance at the door, Glenn finally rearranged himself so that he was lying on top of the blankets, on his back with his face turned towards Daryl. He slowly reached one hand out and ran his nail along the line of the bandage on Daryl's forehead and even though it was a featherlight touch, the contact still made his temple throb and he winced away reflexively. 

“Who shot me?” he asked, sitting up and leaning against the headboard again. Now that he had a full stomach, the room had (thankfully) stopped spinning. Glenn copied his position, bringing one of his knees up to his chest while extending his other leg. The kid looked tired; the bags under his eyes were even more startling in the dim light thrown by the lamp. There was a dark smudge of dirt on his neck and there were a few stains on his pale shirt but regardless, Daryl was pretty sure he'd never been more happy to see someone; hell, if it hadn't been for the pain and the exhaustion seeping further and further into his brain, he would have rolled over and pinned Glenn to the bed, no matter who might walk in at any moment. 

“Andrea. She thought you were a walker.” Glenn's eyes drifted down to the bandages that were wrapped tightly around Daryl's ribs. His hand moved slowly until it was resting against the bandages, fingers splayed so that his nails were just barely scraping Daryl's skin. 

“Christ, knew I looked bad, didn't think it was _that_ bad though,” he muttered, staring down at Glenn's hand and the sheet beyond it. The light pressure did make the wound twinge slightly but the contact was actually rather nice. He felt like it was Glenn's way of apologizing to him and even if the kid really hadn't done fuck all, he was still going to accept the apology. When the pressure started to hurt, he reached down and pulled Glenn’s wrist away but rather than removing his hand, he trailed his fingers down until he could loosely thread them through Glenn's. Glenn looked like he was thinking hard about something but the gesture seemed to stop his brain for a little bit. Daryl didn't really know if that was the best idea but quite frankly, he was exhausted and most of his body was throbbing with pain; having a damn conversation wasn't really at the top of his to-do list at the moment, especially when it was undoubtedly going to involve some serious shit. 

“I'll leave you alone soon so you can get some more sleep,” Glenn said quietly, squeezing Daryl's fingers once as he turned his head and kissed Daryl's shoulder. When he lingered there for a few seconds, Daryl turned his head as well so that he could press his face into Glenn's hair. It was a simple thing, really, but it served to further prove what he'd realized earlier in the day. He was pretty sure that he still couldn't spit the words out, probably wouldn't ever be able to but being able to admit it to himself without any doubt still felt pretty goddamn good.

"It's gonna be hard to sleep by myself," Glenn murmured, his forehead resting against Daryl's shoulder. "It'll be too quiet."

"Be nice to have some damn room though." Glenn pulled away and when he looked up, he rolled his eyes before settling into a small smile. Daryl smirked back at him and squeezed the kid's hand again. If there was one thing he was truly glad for, it was that Glenn knew how to read between the lines, knew how to figure out what he was actually saying. Sure as hell saved him from trying to spit out _gonna miss you too_ 'cause he was pretty sure that was just bound for embarrassment for everyone involved and his day had already been shitty enough without that. 

"Night Daryl," Glenn said, letting go of Daryl's hand and sliding off the bed. 

“Night.” Glenn flicked the lamp off before he shut the door and Daryl gingerly eased himself back down. Whatever Hershel (he assumed) had given him for the pain was slowly starting to wear off and even though he certainly felt a lot better now that there wasn't a goddamn bolt stuck through his side, getting comfortable was nearly impossible. He was generally pretty good at sleeping through pain; hell, it'd basically been necessary to learn that skill when he was a kid. But between the tendrils of pain snaking through his skull and the dull throb near his ribs and the various other bruises, he could barely fucking shift an inch without wincing. 

“Fucking horse,” he muttered, hissing between his teeth as he tried to find an acceptable position for his arm. That failed and he ended up rolling onto his back, staring up at the ceiling in the dark. He really wanted a goddamn cigarette but he was pretty sure that he was all out. He could hear everyone streaming out of the house, heading back out to their camp and once they were gone, the house was much quieter. He'd never minded the quiet but between the near-silence and the fact he could barely fucking move, he could just feel himself getting antsy. He was perfectly fine with self-imposed stillness but having it forced upon him was absolute torture. He raised his hand to scratch the side of his neck and ended up prodding a bruise hard enough to make him curse into the darkness. 

It was going to be a long fucking night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things: firstly, I was lucky enough to meet Norman Reedus yesterday and he is an absolute sweetheart. Secondly, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to the extremely kind anon who sent me a tumblr message earlier this week about this story. thank you very much darling and thank you to all you lovely readers. xo.


	22. Chapter 22.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all my lovely readers: thank you so, so much for reading, commenting, sending kudos or subscribing to this story. It really means so much to me. I hope you all have a lovely Christmas and/or happy holidays and I hope you enjoy this chapter. xo.

Daryl was pretty sure that he might have slept a grand total of one hour. For most of the time, he'd been twisting and turning, trying his best to find a position that didn't cause throbbing pain throughout his body. He'd been successful for a few moments; he'd managed to drift off into a haze filled with half-remembered dreams but then he'd had to piss and by the time he lurched back from the bathroom attached to the guest room, he knew that he wouldn't be able to get comfortable again. He did the best he could, stubbornly shutting his eyes against the pain, hoping that it would go away if he tried his best to ignore it. 

He didn't know how long he'd been laying there with his eyes closed but when he heard the door creak open, the early morning sun was staring to come in through the window. Hershel was standing beside the bed, setting a load of clean bandages and a bottle of pills on the bedside table. His youngest daughter (whose name Daryl really couldn't remember, no matter how hard he plumbed the depths of his brain) was carrying a shallow basin of water, which she sat on the floor before ducking out with a shy smile. 

“Did you sleep?” Hershel asked, undoing the buttons on the cuffs of his shirt and rolling them up to his forearms. 

“Hardly,” Daryl snorted, sitting up. His head felt like there were rocks tumbling around in it but he didn't feel like he was going to pass out, which was a marked improvement. 

“Sorry to hear that. I'm going to change your bandages and give you a few more pills. Only take them if you need them though, we need to spare all that we can.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Daryl muttered under his breath, wincing slightly as Hershel began peeling the bandage off of his forehead. After that, the old man fell silent, performing his task carefully. Daryl stared out the window and even though the gossamer curtains made it hard to really see anything outside, he could still see the light as it slowly grew brighter and brighter. 

“Well, your stitches are holding up just fine,” Hershel said as he finished up, wrapping new bandages around Daryl's ribs and his head. “I'm surprised that you don't have a concussion, but we'll thank God for that.” He shook two pills out of the container and placed them on the bedside table. 

“Take one of those now and try to get a little more sleep. If you need anything, we'll be around.” 

“I'll be fine,” Daryl muttered, reaching for the capsule and swallowing it dry. As Hershel gathered up his supplies, Daryl realized that he was probably being immensely ungrateful but by the time he could even begin to think about saying thank you, Hershel was already gone. Thankfully, the pills started working pretty damn quickly; he took a moment to read the label on the bottle but most of it was absolutely gibberish, a bunch of longass words that ended in 'ide' and 'zene,' words he didn't recognize from any of Merle's medication. Understanding French probably would have been easier and he didn't know anything in that language besides bonjour and a couple of curse words Merle had taught him long ago.

Before he could have any more thoughts about Merle or about French words, he passed out. When he came to, the sun was shining into his eyes through the curtains and someone was tapping at the door. He planned on ignoring it but before he could even shut his eyes again, it was creaking open. When he realized it was Glenn, the curse words evaporated from his mouth and he slowly sat up, brushing his hair away from his face. 

“Hershel said he thought you were feeling a little better,” Glenn said, tapping the door closed with his foot. “So I just figured I'd bring you some clean clothes.” He dropped them at the foot of the bed and shoved his hands into his pockets. He was wearing a blue shirt that Daryl knew had been covered in dirt only a few days ago and he couldn't help but thank God for clean water that they could do laundry in. 

“Be nice to get some damned fresh air,” he muttered, throwing the blankets off and reaching for the vest that was sitting on top of the pile. He didn't think that he'd be able to do too much but staying in bed for another day was going to drive him nuts. His ribs were twinging slightly but even though there was another pill still sitting on the nightstand, he left it where it was. He was a big boy, he could take a little pain; it was better off to save the pills for the kids. 

The words _kid, singular_ popped into his head but he steadfastly ignored them. Besides, Hershel's youngest couldn't have been much older than fifteen. She still counted as a kid in his mind. 

“I'm gonna go see if Maggie needs any help with the chickens,” Glenn said as Daryl did up the last button on his tattered vest. “I'll see you later, okay?” He made to turn back towards the door but Daryl grabbed his wrist before he could leave, pulling him closer. 

“Ain't leavin' yet.” Daryl stood up, switching his grip so that it was higher up on Glenn's arm. “Been over a day since I've properly kissed you. Bit too long if you ask me.” 

“I think you read my mind.”

***

When Glenn did leave the room ten minutes later, it was with a fresh hickie just barely hidden by the collar of his shirt. It'd hardly been a day but Daryl had missed that, had missed leaving marks on Glenn's pale skin. But now that that was done, there came the matter of how he was supposed to occupy his time. He wasn't stupid; he was well aware that his body had limits and he wasn't stupid enough to try and push those anytime soon. He hated the fact that he had to actually take time to recuperate a little but that was the hard fact; much as he wanted to get right back out there and look for Sophia, he also didn't want to get another bolt through his damn side or brain himself on a rock.

Frankly, he didn't want to fucking die because of his own idiocy so if he had to take a day or two to get back into top shape, so be it. But he wasn't going to stay in the guest room any longer. Much as he appreciated Hershel's hospitality, he didn't want to be a damn burden any more. Besides, though he'd never thought that he'd say it, he actually kind of missed his tent or, rather, he missed who he shared his tent with. After so long, sleeping in a damn bed had been nigh on weird and the house had definitely been far too quiet for his own tastes. 

He never had been much for change. 

Once he got his boots on, he headed outside, taking his time. Most of his miscellaneous aches and pains had disappeared but his legs were still pretty damn stiff and his twisted ankle twinged with each goddamn step. By the time he finally made it across the uneven lawn to their camp, he was about ready to start cursing out of sheer damn frustration. He didn't like moving this slow, he felt goddamn useless. Every one seemed pretty occupied and even though his body was telling him that it was time to lie back down, he was not going to deal with another day of damned boredom. So he grabbed his crossbow from inside his tent and sat down beside the fire pit, flicking out his penknife so that he could scrape some of the damn gunk off of it. 

He'd been working away at it for a few minutes when Carl sat down on the log beside him. He looked a lot better than he had only a few days before; he was still alarmingly pale but Daryl was sure a lot of that had to do with not eating properly. There were a few sheets of paper clutched in his fingers that looked an awful lot like the math sheets Daryl remembered from school and he couldn't help but snort. He supposed on some level, it was admirable that Lori was trying to raise the kid like they weren't at the risk of being eaten by walking corpses but mainly, he thought that it was ridiculously naïve. Learning math wasn't going to help him fuck all if the farm got attacked, but knowing how to use a gun just might. 

But whatever. Wasn't his kid, wasn't his call, wasn't any of his damn business. 

“Did it hurt?” Daryl flicked his eyes towards him briefly, hands still carrying out their work. 

“Did what hurt?” he muttered. Wasn't Lori supposed to be keeping an eye on Carl anyways? He couldn't see any sign of her in the general area, or of anyone really, for that matter. 

“Getting shot. Did it hurt?” Unconsciously, Daryl scratched at where Hershel had wrapped the new bandage. The wound felt fine until he put pressure on it; doing that sent little tendrils of pain through his skull that throbbed even after he moved his hand away. 

“Had worse. Imagine yours hurt more,” he said and, on cue, Carl prodded at where he'd been shot. 

“It's okay now. I don't remember much. Dad says I was passed out for most of it.” Daryl just nodded because he didn't have any more to add. Truth be told, he'd never really spoken to the kid before, hadn't really spoken to Sophia either. He'd never really had reason to talk to kids much in the time before; Merle had never had any of his own (not that Daryl knew of) and none of his cousins had bothered to keep up with the family once his parents had both died. Not that he cared; he'd always thought that most of the other Dixons were fucking useless. A yell from somewhere behind the farmhouse drew his attention and he tensed up, fingers stopping their movements. 

“What the hell was that?” he asked, more to the air than to Carl, although it was the kid that answered. 

“There's a walker stuck in one of the wells,” he said, sounding far too nonchalant about the whole thing. “I think they're trying to get it out. I think my dad and Hershel are out looking for Sophia.” While Daryl was glad that someone still had Sophia in mind, the well walker situation just sounded like a terrible fucking idea. Sure, having fresh water was important but a property this size, there had to be more than one goddamn well. There was no point in tempting fate but somehow, he wasn't surprised that the group had decided to do it. They may have gotten a little better but he was still pretty sure that common sense still wasn't a commodity that was highly valued. 

Much as he wanted to get up and see what was happening, he knew that he wouldn't be any help, not with his fucked up ankle. He stretched out his leg and rolled his foot from one side to the other. It was less stiff but it still hurt like a bitch. He'd never had to run on a twisted ankle before. He really didn't want to try it anytime soon. 

Lori came by and retrieved Carl after a few minutes and once he finished cleaning every inch of his crossbow, he made his way back to his still unzipped tent. He'd have to get a pot of water later so that he could sterilize his bolts but for some reason, he felt absolutely exhausted. It was nice to be back in his own bed, if his nest of sleeping bags could really be referred to as a bed. While he'd been in the guest room, it seemed like Glenn had moved a few of his meager possessions over from his own tent; his rucksack was sitting in one corner and Daryl realized that he had one more pillow than he'd had previously. While it was unexpected, he certainly didn't mind it; the kid slept in his tent practically every night anyways, so it just made sense. 

On the other hand, however, if Glenn kept moving his stuff over to Daryl's tent, it wasn't going to go unnoticed for very long. Sure Andrea knew (and goddamnit, the very thought of her name made his head throb) and Rick was aware but that was different. Having everyone know, having it be _official_... 

Well, the notion scared Daryl less than it had only a few days ago. But there was still some fear associated with the idea. 

He fell asleep before he could ponder it any further, tangled in his sleeping bags, not even bothering to kick off his boots. When he woke up again, the sun was still up but the dry heat of the day had lessened some. More importantly than that, however, was the fact that Glenn was sitting in the open doorway of his tent, staring off into the distance. There was a book clasped between his hands and his fingers were picking at the already tattered cover.

“Hey.” The kid jumped like he'd been freaking electrocuted, spinning around. His eyes were wide and he had gnawed his lip ragged; there was still a tendril of dried blood clinging to the corner of his mouth. Something had happened, had to have happened because there was absolutely no way that the kid was that terrified just because Daryl had startled him. 

“Hi,” he said quietly, glancing sideways towards the fire pit. Daryl could hear a few of the others roaming around outside but none of them seemed to be in the immediate vicinity of his tent. 

“What's that?” he asked, nodding his head towards the book in Glenn's hand. 

“Figured you were going to get bored. It's Dale's, he said you can have it for as long as you want.” He dropped the book into Daryl's lap; it was a classic, something Daryl vaguely remembered starting sometime in high school, but he didn't think he'd ever finished it. Merle had probably stolen his copy to use as rolling papers, lord knew he'd done it plenty of times before. 

“Thanks.” He shoved the thing under his pillow. The kid was definitely upset about something, even if he was trying his damnedest to hide it. His hands were shaking visibly and it was easy to see that he didn't want Daryl noticing them. When he raised an eyebrow, Glenn just coughed and shoved his hands down into his lap. 

“It's nothing,” he muttered, directing his gaze out towards the camp. “Nothing worth worrying about.” 

“That's fucking bullshit,” Daryl growled and he used Glenn's obvious alarm at his tone of voice to his advantage. Before he could leave, he knocked him over into the blankets and zipped the tent flap shut. Fuck what anyone thought of it if they happened to notice, there was something wrong and he wasn't just going to sit back and listen to the kid lie to him. Anyone else, he wouldn't have given a rat's ass but Glenn wasn't anyone else. He was... well, he was Glenn and that meant that Daryl actually gave a shit about him. 

“What the hell happened?” he asked, ignoring the wince in his ribs as he rolled over so that he was on top of Glenn. “This have something to do with that well walker?”

“You heard about that?” Daryl didn't bother answering; he shifted so that he could prop himself up on his arms. Glenn's eyes skittered everywhere until they had no choice but to look up, directly into Daryl's. 

“Okay, fine, I let them lower me into the well so we could rope the damn thing and it was really goddamn _terrifying_ and the walker ended up breaking in half so now the well is ruined and just, God, I've never...” The words trailed off into rapid breaths but Daryl had a difficult time telling if they were coming from him or from Glenn. Truth be told, he was absolutely pissed. He couldn't even figure out why. He thought that most of it was from sheer over protectiveness but he didn't think he would have reacted so harshly if it had been Merle they'd been sending down the well. It was overwhelming because he wanted nothing more than to storm out of the goddamn tent and give whoever had thought of the plan a piece of his mind (and maybe his fists as well). 

“Why did you say yes to them?” he muttered, slipping one of his hands down so that it was gripping Glenn's shoulder. “Jesus fucking Christ, you let them use you as walker bait!” 

“I know! I can't say no to them, Daryl, I-”

“Why the fuck not?” Glenn's mouth opened and closed a number of times, like he was hoping to conjure up words from the very air itself. That didn't seem to be working and Daryl could feel more angry words in his throat but then Glenn groaned and sat up suddenly, nearly knocking Daryl over. As it was, Daryl barely managed to get his bearings back before Glenn was in his lap, fingers entwined in his hair, kissing him with everything he had. Part of Daryl wanted to pull away and say _this is not a fucking answer_ but that part was relatively quiet compared to the part that was kissing Glenn back with a desperation he barely recognized. He could taste more dried blood inside Glenn's mouth and he tried his best to lick it away. Glenn pulled away to breathe and Daryl took that time to nudge the hem of the kid's shirt aside so that he could press his lips against the mark he'd left earlier. He barely put any pressure on the purple-tinged skin but it was enough to make Glenn moan into Daryl's hair. This was getting way too heated, hell they were practically on display but Daryl couldn't bring himself to stop. He'd almost lost the kid, in such a stupid fucking way and since it seemed neither of them could talk about things properly, this was the only way Daryl could think of to tell Glenn all the things his mouth couldn't. 

Nonetheless, it was bound to end eventually. That moment came ten minutes later. By that point, they'd fallen back over into the sleeping bags, knocking over Glenn's backpack in the process. The kid's nimble fingers had made quick work of the buttons on Daryl's vest and Glenn's shirt was shoved up underneath his arms. There was a hickey flourishing just above his navel and Daryl had just flattened his palm against the hardness in Glenn's jeans when he heard Hershel's eldest daughter nearby. 

“Have you seen Glenn?” 

“Not in awhile,” Lori answered and, groaning, Daryl forced himself to roll away, dragging a hand down his face. 

“Think that's your cue,” he muttered and Glenn sat up, sighing and fixing his shirt. 

“Yeah, I suppose it is.” He still looked on edge (Daryl wasn't stupid enough to think a quick fumble was enough to erase all that fear) but some of the tension had noticeably drained from his shoulders. He gave Daryl one last glance, gnawing on his lip again and Daryl just nodded. It was enough for the time being and the kid slipped out through the tent door, leaving it half unzipped. Since he no longer had other things to focus on, Daryl could feel the throbbing in his ankle. The bandage around his head had started to slip off so he just got rid of it, tossing it into a corner. There was more bustle going on outside; he reckoned that it was going to be getting dark soon, which meant that everyone would be returning to the camp from wherever they'd been hiding all day. 

He groaned and rolled over, fingers fumbling through the mess of bedding until his hand closed around the book. Maybe someday they'd get a break but until then, reading was the only way he could think of to pass the time.


	23. Chapter 23.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I was reading through this chapter, I realized that it kind of sounds like I'm ending the story here, but fear not! This is not the end. (: I hope you lovely readers enjoy this chapter. xo.

Before Daryl could get more than five pages into the book, the fabric of the tent rustled as someone pulled the zipper down the rest of the way. He propped the book open against his chest (it'd been too convoluted for him anyways) and when the tent flap finished opening, Andrea was crouching just outside, hands hanging down between her knees. Seeing her was... confusing. On one level, Daryl knew that she'd had nothing but good intentions in mind when she'd shot him but all she'd had to do was think about it a little more. She'd jumped to conclusions too quickly, had tried too hard to assert herself and even though he could respect that, it had nearly cost him his fucking skull. Even if she was the only one who he'd willingly told about Glenn, that connection wasn't enough to make him forgive her for her jumpy trigger finger, at least not right away.

“Can I come in?” she asked quietly and he nodded in response, bringing his legs up so that she had enough room to sit down. He really didn't have anything to say (other than a few choice words but somehow, he managed to bite those back) so he simply sat there and waited, fiddling with the weathered pages of the book to distract himself. 

“I'm sorry,” she finally said, staring out the open tent flap. “I mean, that's all I can really say, isn't it? I'm sorry.” She sighed, fingers tapping against her legs and Daryl had to admit, she _did_ look like she was genuinely sorry. Much as part of him wanted to refuse to accept her apology, just out of spite or pride, he was just going to swallow it down and suck it up. They had enough shit to deal with without being at each other's throats. 

“Fine,” he muttered. “Apology accepted, I guess.” She smiled wearily and it was only then that Daryl noticed how goddamn _tired_ she looked. But despite that, he couldn't just let her off scot-free, it simply wasn't in his nature to. 

“Andrea?” She had started moving towards the exit of the tent but she turned back to look over her shoulder, fingers clutching at the tent flap. 

“Yeah?”

“Shoot me again? You best pray I'm dead.” Her lips just barely quirked up before she left the tent and after a few moments, Daryl pulled on a shirt and followed her out into the open air. Carol and Lori were working on supper around the fire and Glenn was sitting underneath one of the trees that surrounded their camp, apparently having returned from whatever errand Maggie had needed him for before. After only a moment of hesitation, Daryl plunked down beside him, wincing only slightly when his back pressed up against the rough bark of the tree. 

“Maggie and I are going on a pharmacy run tomorrow,” Glenn said after a few moments, his head tilted back against the trunk of the tree, eyes closed. The angle exposed the dark bruise that was flourishing at the base of his throat and, after taking a quick look to make sure everyone was too distracted to pay any mind, Daryl leaned over and adjusted the collar of Glenn's shirt until it was almost entirely covering of the mark. Much as he enjoyed looking at the damn thing (just the sight was enough to make him consider grabbing Glenn by the wrist and dragging him to their tent), if the others got a good glimpse at it, they were liable to mistake it for a walker bite and he knew that was just going to lead to some unnecessary hysteria, not to mention the other stuff that was bound to come up. 

“Mornin' or afternoon?” he asked, reluctantly dropping his hand back into his lap. 

“Morning, I think. Shane's planning some target practice for everyone tomorrow. You gonna join them?”

“Probably not.” Truthfully, he didn't think he _needed_ the practice; he could hit things just fine and there was no point in him wasting any of their scarce bullets; even if the others didn't see anything wrong with it, he wasn't going to support it. “You?”

“I don't know. I might go before we leave. Guess I'll decide tomorrow.” He opened his eyes and flicked them over to Daryl, smiling slightly. Before Daryl could even attempt to return the action, Carol and Lori were calling them over for supper. Once they'd finished eating, the evening went by fairly quickly; he tried very hard to secure a spot on watch but Rick absolutely refused to let him switch with anyone and so, after the sun had given up the ghost and the fire had completely died down, he found himself lying in his tent, staring aimlessly at the ceiling. Glenn had taken the first watch shift and although Daryl could practically guarantee that the kid was going to come to his tent as soon as he was done, he couldn't sleep. It wasn't because of the lack of company; rather, he was _bored._ He had nothing he could do and truthfully, he didn't really have anything he wanted to think about. 

So, he shut his eyes and resolutely refused to think about anything until the flap of his tent opened and Glenn practically fell inside. He kicked his shoes off into the corner, zipped the flap closed again and collapsed beside Daryl, his head dropping rather heavily onto his shoulder. 

“Surprised you're still awake,” he muttered, yawning against Daryl's neck. Daryl smirked and pressed a kiss into the top of the kid's head, shifting a little so that it would be harder for his arm to fall asleep. Now that Glenn was there, he suddenly felt very tired. He actually found it terrifying, was petrified at how his body apparently depended on the kid's presence in order to get a good night's sleep. It went against everything he'd been raised to believe, went against pretty well every lesson his family had tried to instill in him yet here he was, drifting to sleep the instant the kid started using him as a pillow.

_You're pathetic, baby brother._

“Fuck off Merle,” he responded but it was only when Glenn mumbled against his neck that he realized he'd said it out loud. 

“You okay?” Glenn asked, leaning up slightly and even though Daryl couldn't see his face in the dark, he could still picture his expression with what he felt was a fair degree of accuracy. 

“Yeah. Don't worry about it,” he said, pulling Glenn back down until he was once again lying on his chest. He managed to force Merle's voice out of his head with only a moderate amount of difficulty and within minutes, despite the fact that part of his arm was rapidly approaching numbness thanks to Glenn, he could feel sleep ensnaring his mind. 

And then Glenn talked again. 

“Hey Daryl?” 

“What?” he groaned, not even bothering to open his eyes. While he'd been teetering on the edge of sleep, Glenn had thrown his arm across his stomach and was fiddling with the hem of his shirt, twisting the threadbare fabric with a surprising amount of force for someone who had seemed half asleep only moments before. 

“I was thinking about taking my tent down tomorrow.” Daryl's first response, which he barely held back, was _what the hell are you talking about?_ But then the answer hit him like a block to the chest and suddenly he was wide awake again. Sure, Glenn had been staying with him almost every night but, far as he knew, he always managed to sneak back to his own tent before anyone really woke up and as far as Daryl could tell, nobody had noticed. But taking down Glenn's tent would leave absolutely no room for confusion; everyone would know. 

Then again, was it really so bad if that was the way everyone found out? After all, Daryl had known for quite some time that it was only a question of _when_ , rather than _if_ and the last thing he wanted was to have the reveal made into a big scene. If they just went for it, then maybe they could just avoid the whole rigmarole and if people had to make a fuss out of it, they could deal with it one on one. 

Truthfully, the way Daryl planned on dealing with anyone who had a problem was to tell them to go fuck themselves but still. Maybe if they did things quietly, it wouldn't come down to that.

“Daryl?” 

Even if his mind had jolted itself awake, Daryl's body was tired as all hell. If he wanted to be back at the top of his game as quickly as possible, he was going to to need to grab all the sleep he could get. They could talk later, when they were both more than half-awake, when Daryl could actually put some attempt into processing his thoughts. 

“Tomorrow,” he sighed, craning his neck so that he could kiss Glenn's temple. “We'll talk 'bout it tomorrow.” 

“Okay.” Glenn's fingers continued twisting in his shirt for a few minutes but soon, he was actually asleep, breathing slowly and steadily against Daryl's collarbone. Even though his mind was still racing (because fuck, he'd never lived with _anyone_ besides Merle and his parents, even before the world ended), sleep actually came fairly easily. All he did was honed on the kid's breathing, concentrated until it was the only thing he could hear and before he knew it, he was waking up again to the sound of people moving around outside. Glenn was gone but based on the fact that his arm felt like it was full of pins and needles when he shifted it, he couldn't have been gone long. When he managed to extract himself from the tangled blankets and got outside, breakfast was already made. Shane and Rick were off to one side, going through their precious bag of guns and ammo and even from across the camp, Daryl could see the tense set of Rick's shoulders, could see the anxious way he kept rubbing his hand over his face. There was something wrong but whatever it was, he didn't really care. He wasn't going to be participating in the target practice anyways so he didn't rightfully give a rat's ass what the problem was. 

Rather than wasting bullets they didn't have, he planned on sterilizing his crossbow bolts. It had been awhile since he'd done it and truthfully, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he had dodged a bullet when he'd gotten one through the ribs; if there'd been even a little more walker guts lingering around on the one that had stabbed him, he could have turned into a walking corpse from the injury. Quite frankly, he was not going to die from such a stupid fucking oversight so, once the others had taken off to go practice, he grabbed a bucket of water from the nearest well and built the fire back up until there was steam rising from the bucket. After that, it was just a matter of waiting for the boiling water to do its work so he tried to busy himself in any way he could. He would have talked to Glenn if he could have, would have taken advantage of the empty camp to discuss the possibility of taking down his tent but him and Maggie had already left, galloping off on horseback.

The afternoon went by horribly slow. He went through the saddlebag on Merle's bike, sorting through the medication and the various odds and ends, looking for anything useful. There was still some meth sitting in a plastic baggie at the bottom and he couldn't help but smirk before he tossed it back in. Aside from that, there was a half empty bottle of Tylenol (which, miraculously, appeared to have actual Tylenol in it, rather than something illicit), a bone-dry flask and a pen that ended up getting thrown in the fire when it failed to work. 

“Thanks for being useful Merle,” he muttered, dropping the flash back down into the bag. That had killed all of twenty minutes and although he knew that the arrows were probably passably sterilized, he wasn't taking any risks. He wasn't about to go wandering around the farm so he reluctantly grabbed the book from his tent and settled beside the fire, picking his way through each sentence. 

The target practice group came back before the kid and Maggie and even though it had only been a few hours, in the back of his mind, there was a little voice that was muttering that it was worried. From what he understood, even on horseback, the pharmacy wasn't very far away; it should have been pretty simple to get in and out. Nonetheless, he tried to block it out because worrying wasn't going to be productive for anyone. He finally took the bucket of water containing his bolts off of the fire and laid them out in front of his tent to dry. As he did that, he couldn't help but notice Rick standing just outside the perimeter of their camp, talking to Hershel. That tension was back in his shoulders and his hands were firmly on his hips, although he kept twisting around, obviously trying to present some kind of point. The conversation was a quick one but when Rick came back into the camp, he stopped beside Daryl and sighed, dragging his hand over the stubble on his face. 

“What?” Daryl asked when he continued to stand there, eyes flickering over the rest of the camp. 

“Hershel wants us to leave,” he said quietly, hands still planted on his hips. “He doesn't want us staying here much longer.” 

“Not surprised,” Daryl muttered, standing up. “Guy's got a good thing going here. Makes sense that he doesn't want to share.” 

“It's not that,” Rick said quickly but, based on the fact he said no more, Daryl was positive that Rick was just in denial. Truthfully, Daryl didn't blame Hershel at all. Now that the rulebook of society had been torn in two, it really was every man (or every man plus his group) for themselves. The farm was relatively isolated and seemed to have enough supplies to keep the old man's family going for months, maybe even a year; sharing those supplies and the shelter with a bunch of strangers just screamed dangerous. Nonetheless, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of anger deep down inside, anger that he knew he had no right to be feeling. For Rick, it seemed to be more than that; sure, Daryl wasn't the best person at reading faces but Daryl thought that the former deputy looked downright desperate. 

“You gonna tell the others?” he asked, glancing at the camp as well. The old man was sitting on top of the RV on watch, Lori was dropping something into the pot that was hanging over the fire and Carl was working on one of his math sheets in the shade. If it hadn't been for the bags underneath everyone's eyes or for the rifle across Dale's lap, it might have looked like just a large family camping on the weekend. Daryl knew that it wasn't going to be easy to get the others to leave, not when they'd become so accustomed to relative luxury once again. 

“Not yet,” Rick sighed again, lifting his hat and wiping the sweat off of his forehead. “I'm hoping he'll change his mind. Maybe...” Rick trailed off, head abruptly swiveling towards the direction of the driveway and as Daryl followed his gaze, he realized he could hear hoofbeats getting closer and closer. Glenn and Maggie trotted into view after a moment and Daryl was pretty sure it was the first and last time he'd ever really appreciate a horse. They continued on over to the barn and even though it took everything he had to not go meet Glenn, he forced himself to stand still, pretending like he was extremely interested in how much longer his bolts had to dry. A few minutes later, they both emerged from the barn, backpacks over their shoulders and Glenn's legs were powering him across the grass. However, the closer he got, the more worried Daryl got because even though he'd arrived back safely, the kid's face was shiny with sweat and his mouth was set into a straight line and Daryl recognized the look in his eyes as barely concealed fear. 

Possibly the most worrying part of all, however, was that Glenn was making a beeline straight for him. He dropped his backpack in front of his own tent, brushed past Rick and, before Daryl even had time to react, Glenn was practically jumping on him, wrapping his arms around his neck so tightly that it made the breath catch in Daryl's throat. Daryl didn't think twice; he pulled Glenn as close to him as he could, squeezing tighter than would have been necessary at any other moment. Something had happened, that much was clear; the kid's body language practically screamed desperation as he clawed at Daryl's hair and muttered a non-stop stream of words into where his neck met his shoulder. He couldn't pick out most of them but he got the jist of the situation and when his stomach coiled in on itself, he pressed his face into Glenn's hair, trying his hardest not to shudder when he breathed. 

When Glenn pulled away, gasping for air, Daryl was all too aware that everyone was staring at them but strangely, he didn't feel even the slightest bit scared. Glenn had obviously needed him and Daryl had been able to do that, had been able to be exactly what Glenn needed at that particular moment and the only thing he felt regarding that notion was relief. 

“You okay?” he asked quietly, hands resting on Glenn's shoulders. There was blood splattered all over the front of his shirt and based on the smell, Daryl didn't think it was human. 

“I am now,” he replied, his palms still pressed into the sides of Daryl's neck. “I am now.” When he leaned up and pressed his lips against Daryl's, he reciprocated the action because what the hell, the cat had already gotten out of the bag, it only made sense to let the whole damn litter out too. When Glenn pulled away again, most of the fear had gone from his eyes and the set of his mouth had softened just a bit. 

“I have to go give some stuff to Lori,” he said and with that, he was off again, scooping his bag off the ground and heading over to where Lori was still sitting near the fire. Rick was still standing off to the side and he cleared his throat once, scratching at the back of his neck. 

“I'm happy for you,” he finally said, smiling slightly before he wandered off towards his tent. The other members of the camp seemed to have returned to their business but every now and then, Daryl caught them glancing in his direction. Thankfully, they didn't seem to be looks filled with hatred or disgust, just curiosity mingled with a bit of confusion. Even better than that, however, was the fact that nobody brought it up again. Even while they were sitting around the fire eating supper, the limited conversation revolved completely around other subjects. Indeed, the only recognition of the issue came from Andrea; someone must have told her once she'd gotten back from practicing shooting with Shane because she sent him a small smile across the fire while they were eating. 

He returned it the best he could and contented himself with the fact that Glenn's leg was pressed against his own and nobody was saying a word about it. 

After dinner, they didn't have to say anything; as soon as Glenn slid inside Daryl's tent with a bundle of clothes in his arms, Daryl took them and started rearranging their blankets so that they had more room for stuff. Once all of his possessions had been moved over, Glenn zipped the tent flap up behind himself and, until Glenn took watch in roughly four hours, they had no distractions and nothing to worry about. 

“Feels weird, kind of,” Glenn sighed, pulling his shoes off and shoving them into the corner with the rest of his things. “Doesn't it feel weird?”

“Feels better,” Daryl said and that was the complete truth. While he still wasn't convinced that he wasn't going to hear something from some member of their ragtag band, the group had taken it remarkably well. And while he was still terrified inside, terrified that he was going to fuck up the best thing he'd ever had in his life, he was trying so hard not to worry about it, especially since Glenn was pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it in Daryl's direction. 

“C'mere.” He'd hardly gotten the word out before Glenn was tackling him, mouth latching onto his own, remnants of his desperation making themselves known. His hands were gripping Daryl anywhere he could reach and when Daryl gave up fumbling with his own hands and settled them in the back pockets of the jeans Glenn was still wearing, the noise Glenn made was the prettiest fucking thing Daryl had ever heard. 

“You still gotta keep quiet you know,” he panted against Glenn's mouth when he pulled back to snatch a breath. 

“I'll try,” he said, biting Daryl's bottom lip. “You're gonna have to help though.”

Daryl did try to keep the kid quiet, he really did. He swallowed more of Glenn's moans than he could count, let the kid suck bruises along his shoulders so that he wouldn't cry out every time Daryl's hand touched his cock, kissed him until he could hardly see straight. But still, noises kept creeping out, the most beautiful gasps and whimpers and every single one hit Daryl like a baseball bat. The night completely confirmed what he'd essentially already known: he was absolutely screwed. Glenn had him, mind, body and soul and while that did not at all mean that his problems were solved, it meant that dealing with them was certainly going to be a little easier.

At least, he hoped so.

As much as he tried to keep Glenn relatively quiet, once Glenn started gasping his name against his neck, hips thrusting into the tight circle of Daryl's hand, he gave up. It may have been a selfish move but his name coming from Glenn's lips sounded too damn nice to muffle so he made no attempt to do so. Glenn never finished the last repetition of the word however because before he could enunciate the second syllable, he was spilling against Daryl's fingers, body locking up above him. He half-expected the kid to collapse on top of him but as soon as he wriggled his hand out from between them, wiping his hand off onto the nearest shirt (which he didn't think belonged to him), Glenn was fumbling with the button on his jeans, fingers scratching at the fabric like he was on a timer. 

“Kid, you don't have to-”

“Daryl, shut up,” Glenn said. “Let me do this.” Daryl had no idea what _this_ was supposed to refer to but then Glenn was sliding down his body and his teeth were scraping over his hipbones and-

Oh. _Oh._

There was no doubt about it; for the moment, at least, Glenn had him, completely and utterly and Daryl just stopped fucking thinking about anything that wasn't Glenn and his ridiculously warm mouth. 

Needless to say, he was pretty sure making that choice was the best decision of his life. 


	24. Chapter 24.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it only took me a month to update this time! Seriously, I apologize for the ridiculous wait. I hope you all forgive me. xo.

When Daryl relieved Glenn for the dawn watch (and yes, he may have stolen a quick kiss before Glenn slid back into their tent), he realized something was different about the world. It wasn't the layout of the land or anything like that; the trees and tents were all exactly where they were supposed to be. The sun took a little longer to pop above the horizon and the light seemed a little weaker but that wasn't it either; there was something missing and when it finally hit him, Daryl felt like a complete idiot for not catching it earlier. 

There were still birds heralding the onset of dawn but they were quieter than usual. He had been too busy searching and recovering to notice it, but they must have begun to fly further south. Even as he came to that realization, a chill wind blew through the trees and he really regretted not grabbing a shirt with sleeves on it. The air was getting cooler with each passing night. Fall was swiftly on the way and truthfully, Daryl didn't know if they were ready for it. If they had been welcome in the farmhouse, it wouldn't have been a problem but if Hershel still intended to kick them off the land as soon as possible, they had a lot of supplies to gather. They'd need more food, better tents, thicker jackets and sleeping bags. But even if they started preparing immediately, Daryl didn't think it would be enough. They'd gotten too complacent again, hadn't been thinking in the long run and it was going to impact them, there was no doubt about that. 

Even if relying on someone else wasn't really his idea of an ideal situation, Daryl really hoped that Rick managed to convince Hershel to let them stay because frankly, he was certain that the farmhouse was going to be the difference between life and death and Christ, wasn't _that_ a terrifying thought?

He'd been on watch for around an hour, picking at his crossbow to pass the time, when he heard the door of the RV creak open below him. This was swiftly followed by the entire thing shaking as someone ascended the rickety ladder and as soon as the old man's faded bucket hat popped over the edge, Daryl couldn't help but groan. Dale had seemed fine at the fire last night but of course, Daryl had known that things were too good to be true. He'd known that somebody was bound to be upset about him and Glenn but of course, no one was willing to come out and say it in the presence of the rest of the group. 

He had a feeling Dale wouldn't be the only one he'd be fending off today, but better they go after him then Glenn. 

“Morning Daryl,” he sighed, pulling himself up and onto the roof. There was an extra chair beside him but he continued to stand, hands stuck down in the pocket of his khakis. Daryl grunted in response and kept his eyes firmly on the horizon, scanning the field for walkers for the twentieth time. After at least five minutes of tension-laden silence, where Daryl just barely managed to avoid snapping _say your fucking piece_ , Dale sighed and plunked down into the other chair, clasping his hands between his knees. 

“Fall is coming quickly,” he said and all Daryl could do was stare at him. He was still sure that the old man was leading into some moralizing speech but he couldn't figure out how he was going to connect the topics of the weather and Daryl's relationship with Glenn. 

“What makes you say that?” he said finally, picking at a chunk of dirt on his boots. 

“When you get to be my age, you can feel the cold coming. It's not an old wife's tale, I promise.” Daryl didn't have an adequate response to that so he simply kept his mouth shut and continued waiting, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“Daryl, I'm not going to tell you that I think you're making a mistake, because I don't believe that,” Dale finally said, just as Daryl's patience began to run out. “I might have thought that before but now...” He suddenly clapped a hand down on Daryl's shoulder and the unexpected contact made him jump. He wasn't sure how much he cared for the fatherly position Dale was suddenly taking on but it could have been a hell of a lot worse, he supposed. 

“I think now, it's more important that we be happy than anything. Glenn's a good kid, Daryl-”

“Don't think I know that?” he interrupted, but Dale just kept talking like he hadn't said a word. 

“-and as long as you don't forget the bigger picture, then I think you'll just be fine.” With that, he stood up and although it took him a few moments to make his way back down the ladder, Daryl couldn't even begin to formulate a response. Sure, the whole thing had been vaguely condescending but he was sure that Dale had meant well. After all, regardless of the rest of the patronizing crap he'd said, he'd told Daryl that he wasn't making a mistake and on some level, that meant a lot. 

Once the sun was fully above the horizon, Daryl decided to turn his attention to other things; primarily, on finding Sophia. Even if the others had allowed themselves to get distracted with other tasks, the fact was that he'd found solid _proof_ ; sure, it had been a few days since he'd discovered her doll on the riverbank but it was the only clue he had and now that he was back on his feet, he intended on following that lead up. 

Giving up wasn't in his vocabulary, never had been. 

He went on foot this time; if he had it his way, he wasn't riding a fucking horse ever again. Once he entered the forest, the absence of the birds was even more obvious; while a few were still sitting in the treetops, chirping and whistling, it was still much easier to hear his own footsteps than it had been before.

It took awhile to make his way to the riverbank; he supposed that, technically, he could have just slid down the hill as a shortcut but he'd already done that twice and he really wasn't planning on getting another one of his crossbow bolts stuck through his ribs anytime soon. By the time he managed to find his way down to the river, the sun was directly overhead and he was covered in sweat. The place stunk to high heaven; the two walkers that he had dispatched were still lying in the sun and when he skirted around one, he could see maggots squirming around in the zombie's collapsed nose. It was nearly enough to make him sick so he quickly turned his attention to the bank of the stream, where he'd found the doll. 

He combed the area for what had to be an hour, sweat dripping into his eyes, looking for anything he might have missed in his disorientated, agonized state. But, simply put, the area was a complete wash. Aside from the doll, there was no sign that Sophia had ever been there; no footprints, no pieces of fabric from her clothes, not even twigs that she might have snapped. The more he searched, the more Daryl realized a rather disheartening truth: Sophia had probably never been in the area at all. While the current of the stream wasn't very strong, it certainly would have been enough to carry the doll and he had no idea how long the stream was or even where it originated from. He couldn't just go following it, not without a plan.

Once that realization fully sunk in, he spun on his toes and slammed his fist into the nearest tree trunk. He knew that it was an immature reaction, that it wasn't going to help anything but old habits died hard. The bark scraped the skin off of his knuckles but he ignored the pain and started making his way back towards the path, stopping to slam his boot into the rotting skull of one of the walker's as he passed. It exploded into a mess of gray-tinged flesh and squirming maggots and he regretted it almost immediately but he needed to get his anger out on _something._ Every little bit of hope he'd discovered so far had been completely invalidated and it was a fucking horrible feeling, like being powerless and weak. 

Daryl had been called weak dozens of times in his life but to actually _feel_ weak? Well, that was something else entirely.

As he made his way back to the farm, Daryl realized that the birds had fallen almost silent. The crickets and cicadas were still screeching but the heat of the day seemed to have silenced all the other creatures. His footsteps seemed extremely loud, too loud and when he abruptly stopped, there was a quick echo of steps from somewhere behind him. After a second, he started walking again but he tried to be quieter, softening his steps and now that he was listening, it was all too obvious that he was being followed. The person was obviously trying to be stealthy but was stepping on too many twigs and rustling too many branches to be any good at it. One tiny part of his mind couldn't help but wonder if it was Glenn, if he was attempting to sneak up on him for certain reasons but Daryl knew that was just a stupid idea. Even if they'd never spoken about it, Daryl knew that Glenn understood that there was a partition in their relationship. His nights were for Glenn, only Glenn; his days, on the other hand, were dedicated to sheer fucking survival. He knew the kid got that. So whoever was following him was doing it for other reasons and when another twig snapped too close for comfort, Daryl whirled around and brought his crossbow up to his face, finger on the trigger. 

Shane. Of course it was Shane. At the fire the previous night, his face had revealed nothing but the man was also incapable of keeping his mouth shut about anything. He always had to have input. Still, the fact that he had followed Daryl out into the woods to apparently provide that (unwanted) input was more than a little bizarre. Combine that with the vaguely unstable look in his eyes and Daryl's nerves were on edge; he was ready to move no matter how the situation went. 

“What the hell you doin' out here?” he asked, slowly lowering his crossbow so that it was pointed to the ground. He kept his finger on the trigger though, ready to fire at a moment's notice.

“Wanted to talk to you, Daryl,” he said as he ran his hand over his bald head, stubble audibly rasping against his palm. “'Bout what happened yesterday.”

“Isn't any of your goddamn business what happened yesterday,” he snapped. Shane took another step forward and Daryl really didn't think he knew what he was doing. Cornering him out in the forest was _not_ a good idea because although giving up was not part of being a Dixon, fighting when someone tried to cage you in was and it was an instinct he had never gotten rid of, wasn't one he _wanted_ to get rid of, truth be told. His finger twitched against the trigger again but thankfully, before he had to raise the crossbow, Shane shrugged and ran his hand over the back of his neck, mouth quirking into a smirk. Nonetheless, despite his apparent backing down, Daryl was still on high alert because although that smirk may have looked harmless on its own, it seemed rather dangerous when combined with the spark of instability that was still present in Shane's eyes. Daryl didn't think that Shane would kill him; Lord knew that he certainly had the capacity for murder (because Otis hadn't been an accident, no matter what he said) but if Shane killed him, he'd have to create quite a fanciful tale to cover his tracks and Daryl didn't think he could pull off that big of a lie. Maybe he could have before Otis, but not now. 

“S'fine, Daryl. I mean, I don't think you know what you're doing but-”

“I know exactly what I'm doing,” he growled. “'Sides, I wouldn't be giving lectures on smart decisions if I were you.” With that, Daryl started back towards the farm, keeping the hand that wasn't holding his bow on the handle of his hunting knife. He knew that the comment had probably been kind of a low blow but it was truth, pure and simple; sure, he'd never caught Lori and Shane in the act back at the quarry but it had been all too obvious that there had been something going on between the two of them. There was no way he was going to take love 'advice' from Shane, or anyone for that fucking matter.

At the back of the Greene's property, there was a small pond that the cows seemed to drink out of and Daryl stomped towards it, ready to start hollering curse words at the air. There was a small dock at the edge of the water and, shucking his boots off, he dangled his feet over the edge and laid down, staring up at the cloudless sky.

This was just fucking annoying; _Shane_ was just fucking annoying. Daryl didn't particular care one way or another what Shane thought about his relationship with Glenn, but the fact that he had pretty well stalked him was definitely a problem. In fact, something wasn't adding up. If Shane had planned on confronting him, he hadn't done a very good job of it. Daryl had a feeling there was another reason he had been out in the forest and truth be told, he wasn't sure if he really wanted to know what it was. Instead of lingering on it, he sat up so that he could drop his swollen, scraped hand into the cool water of the pond. Once he had washed the blood off, he threw some water onto his face, scrubbing away the layer of sweat and dirt that had accumulated while he was in the forest As he finished up, he could hear footsteps approaching along the planks of the dock and when he twisted around, Rick was standing there, looking just as tired as ever, forearms streaked with dirt. 

“I'm thinking we can go back out tomorrow,” he said, hands on his hips and despite the bags under his eyes and the grime on his clothes, he looked every inch the deputy he'd used to be. “If we draw up some grids, we can assign everyone a sector. Want to do that now?” 

What Daryl wanted to do was to warn Rick that there was something seriously wrong with Shane. But that was a boundary he didn't want to cross and besides, he had a feeling that Rick wouldn't listen to him anyways. So instead, he nodded and stood up, passing on putting his wet feet back into his boots and walking barefoot across the grass. 

Drawing up the grids took longer than Daryl expected and by the time they finished up, it was already late in the afternoon. The rest of the day flew by in a blur of menial tasks but the surprises for the day didn't end after the sun went down. While Daryl was in the opening of his tent, figuring out which of his clothes needed to be washed (the answer was all of them), Glenn came walking over from the farmhouse, holding a slightly battered acoustic guitar in his hands. He'd never mentioned anything about playing but he sat down beside the fire and started picking at the instrument, fingers twisting the tuning pegs like it was second nature. Once he started playing, humming and occasionally singing quietly, Daryl could recognize quite a few of the songs. Most of them were classics, the ones most people learned how to play but there were a few that he was surprised by. There were also a few that brought up some rather unpleasant memories but once he shook those out of his head, he tossed his clothes back into the tent and made his way over to the fire, where the rest of the group had been kind enough to leave the seat beside Glenn open. 

“Gonna play any ABBA?” he muttered into Glenn's ear as he sat down and he couldn't help but snort as Glenn turned a rather interesting shade of red, fingers stilling on the neck of the guitar. 

“I knew I shouldn't have told you that,” he groaned, smiling slightly despite the blush on his face. He went back to playing, strumming chords seemingly at random and now that he was sitting beside him, Daryl could tell that something was off. As soon as the smile left his mouth, he could see the anxiety etched into Glenn's face, present just underneath the surface. He was chewing on his lip and his eyes kept flicking off into the distance, like he was thinking hard about something, something that wasn't just what song to play next. But there was no way that Daryl was going to bring it up around the campfire, not when everyone else was around. 

After dinner, Daryl took the first watch, which was just as uneventful as the morning one had been. But when he slid back into the tent, even in the dark, he could tell that Glenn's anxiety had increased tenfold. When he climbed into the pile of bedding beside him, having already shucked his shirt and jeans off, the kid was practically _vibrating;_ his fingers were twitching against Daryl's bicep and he kept tossing and turning, kicking the blankets all over the damn place. Daryl could pretty well hear the thoughts racing through his head and after only a few minutes, he knew that neither of them were going to be getting any sleep until Glenn said what was bothering him.

“C'mon, spit it out,” he sighed, sitting up and throwing the blankets to the side. 

“You're not going to believe me if I say nothing's wrong, are you?” Glenn sighed, sitting up as well, his bare shoulder brushing against Daryl's. 

“No.”

“Fine.” For a few very long moments, Glenn remained silent. His fingers were on Daryl's knee, blunt nails dragging over his skin and the longer he stayed quiet, the more pressure he put behind his fingertips. Finally, his mouth opened with an audible pop and his nails pressed down so hard that Daryl was pretty sure he was going to have marks indented into his skin for hours. 

“Lori's pregnant,” he finally sighed and admittedly, Daryl wasn't too surprised by that. He knew there were a number of issues that situation brought up, issues about whether or not this was a world to have a child in, he also knew those issues were none of his concern. Yet, while Daryl knew Glenn was empathetic, almost to a fault, he also knew there was no possible way Lori's pregnancy would stress him out that much. There was something else, there had to be.

“And?” he prompted, wincing as Glenn's nails dug into him some more. After a few seconds, Glenn muttered something so quietly that Daryl couldn't make out a single word. Before Daryl could say anything however, he sucked in a wavering breath and spoke again and although the words were still extremely quiet, Daryl heard them perfectly well and they made his blood turn cold as ice. 

“Hershel... he's keeping walkers in the barn.” 

Sophia's disappearance, Shane's obvious instability and now this. Bad things really did come in fucking threes.


End file.
